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1  2  3 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

Three  Girls  and  Their  Motto. 


Page  43. 


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AMERICAN  BAPTIST  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY, 

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4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XL  '**' 

.  OOKTLIOT  AHD  YlOTOBT, 130 

CHAPTEB  XIL 
Nbd  Hatkabs, 127 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Famnib  Wbldoh,  .    .    , 188 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Aftbb  Many  Days,      140 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Ethel's  Visit, 149 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Nkw  Scknks  and  New  Feienss, .161 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
The  Intalid, 172 

CHAPTEB  XVIIL 
A  Lesson  o»  Hope, 177 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Changes, igg 

CHAPTER  XX 
Laoba  Wtndbau ,    .    . 190 

CHAPTJs,a  XXI. 
Old  Fbibkdships  Renewed,' igs 


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140 


140 


.  161 


172 


177 


•  .  •   .  188 


190 


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THREE  GIRLS  AND  THEIR  MOTTO. 


CHAPTER  I. 

STHEL's  PEBPLEXinES. 

((  T  DECLARE,  this  is  the  worst  room  in  the 

J-     house  to  keep  tidy !" 

The  speaker  was  Ethel  Gladwyo;  the  room  was 
the  children's  room,  and  Ethel  was  the  children's 
eldest  sister.  She  was  very  busy  just  then,  sweeping, 
stopping  often  to  pick  up  some  cbUdish  treasure  that 
had  slipped  from  little  fingers  and  rolled  away  to  an 
unobserved  nook,  there  to  remain  snugly  hidden  till 
sweeping  day 

Ethel  was  alone;  so  her  remark  was  addressed  to 
no  one,  unless  it  might  have  been  the  big  wax  doll, 
MoUie,  and  she,  not  in  the  slightest  d^rea  disturbed 
by  ii,  sat  quite  straight  on  the  bureau,  gazing  with 
wide-open  eyes  and  an  amiable  smile  on  Ethel's 
labors. 

The  state  of  the  room  did  not  seem  to  trouble  the 
fair  sweeper  very  much,  however,  for  her  face  was 
very  bright  and  pleasant,  and  she  caroled  a  gay  little 
song  while  she  worked.     Perhaps,  with  her  sensitive 


-«% 


V 


I      ■  i 

r 


6 


THBEE  QIRU9. 


nature,  that  responded  quickly  to  every  ohan^  in 
her  surroundings,  it  wonld  have  been  impossible  for 
Ethel  not  to  be  happy  on  this  sunny,  spring  morning, 
when  all  nature  was  waking  to  new  life.  Yet  there 
were  times  when  we  might  have  seen  her  in  a  more 
serious  moodj  for  Ethel  was  a  thoughtful  girl,  and 
now  that  she  had  left  school,  and  life,  with  its  respon- 
sibilities, began  to  open  before  her,  she  often  found 
herself  face  to  face  with  problems  more  difficult  to 
solve  than  those  of  algebra  or  geometry. 

Ethel  was  a  Christian  and,  above  all  things,  desired 
to  live  a  true  Christian  life.  Yet  it  was  so  difficult  at 
times  to  decide  what  was  right  and  what  was  wrong, 
since  even  good  people  held  such  diverse  views! 
Then  too,  it  was  a  puzzle  to  Ethel,  how  she  could 
be  wholly  given  up  to  the  service  of  Christ  when 
so  much  of  her  time  and  thought  must  necessarily 
be  taken  up  with  the  aflFairs  of  this  life.  In  sho.t, 
it  was  by  no  means  clear  to  her  how  one  could  live 
in  the  world,  and  yet  not  be  of  it. 

Now,  however,  she  was  too  busy  to  do  much  think- 
ing. She  had  just  finished  her  sweeping,  when  there 
came  a  light  tap  at  the  door,  and  some  one  said: 
"Ethel,  are  you  there?" 

"  Yes,  Grace,  come  in;"  and  the  next  moment  a 
girl  about  Ethel's  age,  looking  very  pretty  in  a  new 
spring  suit,  entered  the  room.  It  was  Grace  May- 
nard,  Ethel's  dearest  friend. 

"  There  I  I  have  come  to  bother  you  when  you  are 


'^t't: 


%  )%Ui-'<t*:.-r-^'!^£It^&i7'bap^iU'£^<-^ 


7  ohan^  in 
mpossible  for 
ing  morning, 
Yet  there 
er  in  a  more 
ful  girl,  and 
th  its  respon- 
ofteu  found 
;  difficult  to 

lings,  desired 
K>  difficult  at 
t  was  wrong, 
*rerse  views! 
w  she  could 
Christ  when 
t  necessarily 
}.  In  shc.t, 
le  could  live 

much  think- 
,  when  there 
e  one  said: 

t  moment  a 
:ty  in  a  new 
Grrace  May- 
hen  you  are 


f 


Ethel's  pebplexities.  7 

busy,  haven't  I?"  she  exdaioKd.    "Ann  told  me 
you  were  upstairs,  so  I  came  right  up." 

"That  is  right;  you  are  not  interrupting  me  a  bit. 
I  have  finished  sweepuig.  Come  to  tho  sewing  room, 
Grace.'' 

"I  am  not  going  to  keep  you  a  minute,  Ethel. 
Could  you  lend  me  that  ^Etshion  plate — the  one  with 
the  child's  pretty  dress  in  it,  you  know?  Mother  is 
having  a  dress  made  for  Aggie,  and  I  want  her  to 
see  that  pattern." 

"Yes,  certainly;  sit  down,  Grace." 

"No,  thank  you;  I  must  go  in  a  minute." 

"Is  that  your  new  suit?"  Ethel  asked. 

"Yes;  how  do  you  like  it?" 

"It  is  just  lovely;  who  made  it?" 

"  Miss  Harbury." 

And  so  they  chatted  on  till  the  minute  had  ex- 
tended to  nearly  half  an  hour.    At  last,  Grace  said: 

"  I  really  must  go.  Mother  will  wonder  what  has 
become  of  me.  I  went  down  town  to  match  some 
braid.  I  expect  she  will  think  I  am  never  coming 
back  with  it."  So  saying,  she  started  to  go;  then, 
turning  back  again,  ehe  said:  "Before  you  choose 
your  new  suit,  Ethel,  you  ought  to  go  into  Howard 
&  Denning's  shop — they  have  the  loveliest  dress 
goods!    Just  go  in." 

"Yss;  I  must,"  replied  Ethel.  "What  a  bother 
it  is,  this  business  of  choosing  dresses." 

"Do  you  think  ao?    I  like  it." 


k/ 


! 


t 


% 


THREx  aims. 


"Perhapg  you  woaldn't,  if  you  had  so  many  to 
plan  for  as  we  have." 

"Yes,  Ethel,  I  think  I  should.  Mother  would 
not,  thouj^h;  she  gets  a  sick  headache  whenever  we 
spend  a  morning  shopping.  But  I  should  never  get 
tired  of  it  if  I  had  plenty  of  money;  the  lack  of 
that  precious  article  is  my  only  trouble." 

"I  think  I  should  not  enjoy  shopping  if  I  had  all 
the  money  I  could  desire,"  replied  Ethel.  « It  is  not 
that,  Grace,  but  it  seams  to  me  sometimes,  as  though 
it  was  hardly  worth  while." 

"W  til  whUe  what?"  said  Gi-aoe,  a  little  impa- 
tiently. 

"Spending  so  much  time  and  thought  on  things 
that  perish  with  the  using." 

"I  am  sure  we  would  be  perfect  guys  if  we  did 
not  spend  time  and  thought  on  them.  I  hope,  Ethel, 
you  will  not  get  any  strange  notions  into  your  head, 
and  insist  on  wearing  antediluvian  garments  to  prove 
your  detachment  from  worldly  things;  for,  if  you 
do,  I  give  you  fair  warning,  I  shall  not  own  you  as  a 
friend,"  and  Grace  laughed  merrily  as  she  ran  down- 
stairs. 

Ethel  laughed  too,  because  she  could  not  help  it; 
but  when  she  turned  back  to  the  sewing  room,  after 
bidding  her  friend  good-bye,  the  serious  look  stole 
again  into  her  face.  She  never  spoke  of  her  inmost 
thoughts  to  another  without  r^retting  it.  It  was  so 
hard  to  make  even  dearest  friends  understand  just 


f  iVfl^^^aai^  1>4tf^»*MjdfeiA«;^^!i^l^It^J<(i>-..- 


Ethel's  perplexities. 


9 


what  her  thoughts  and  feelings  were  I  It  was  the 
instinctive  longing  for  human  sympathy  and  help  in 
her  girlish  dilBculties  that  had  led  her,  somewhat 
impetuously  perhaps,  to  speak  out  the  thoughts  of 
her  heart  that  morning;  and  she  felt  half  disap- 
pointed that  they  had  been  treated  so  lightly.  But 
then  she  reflected  it  was  no  time  to  discuits  serious 
questions  when  Grace  was  in  one  of  her  merry  moods. 
She  should  have  chosen  some  better  time. 

Having  thus  dismissed  the  matter,  she  went  about 
her  household  duties  again.  Those  finished,  she 
seat(>d  herself  in  a  low  chair  by  her  bedroom  win- 
dow, with  some  sewing.  This  was  her  favorite  seat, 
for  she  could  look  out  on  a  tall  elm  tree,  where  every 
spring  the  birds  built  their  nests,  flow  Ethel  loved 
to  watch  them !  Sometimes  one  of  them  would  hop 
along  a  branch  quite  near  to  the  window,  and  then, 
with  head  on  one  side,  would  watch  her  curiously. 
It  seemed  to  be  satisfied,  after  this  dose  inspection, 
that  Ethel  was  one  to  be  trusted;  and,  perhaps  in 
bird  language,  told  the  others  so;  at  any  rate,  they 
grew  more  and  more  tame  every  day,  and  would 
perch  oil  the  window-sill  to  pick  up  the  crumbs  that 
Ethel  scattered  there,  while  occasionally  one  more 
venturesome  than  the  rest  would  snatch  a  morsel 
from  her  hand. 

As  Ethel  sat  there  sewing,  her  thoughts  reverted 
to  the  conversation  of  the  morning.  As  she  had  said 
to  Grace,  there  were  many  to  think  of  beoides  herself. 


10 


THREE  OIRL8. 


Sincy  leaving  school,  she  had  tried  to  share  with  her 
mother  the  care  of  planning  for  the  summer  and 
winter  outfit  of  the  five  younger  brother  and  sistem 
who  made  up  the  household;  and  no  small  care  it 
was,  as  those  who  know  can  testify.    Ethel,  however 
entered  on  her  new  duties  with  much  energy.    She 
had  a  knack  of  putting  things  together  tastefully, 
and  making  over  dresses  to  look  as  well  as  new— a 
gift  especially  acceptable  in  a  family  whose  means  are 
limited,  as  was  the  case  with  the  Gladwyns. 

Ethel  was  quite  ambitious.    She  wanted  to  tuck 
and  embroider  all  the  dresses  as  elaborately  as  the  ' 
style  then  prevailing  demanded  ;  but,  sometimes,  the 
question  had  come  to  her  mind  whether  these  things 
were  worth  the  time  and  thought  they  cost. 

Now  the  busy  season  had  come  around  again,  and 
with  it  a  renewal  of  all  this  worry  and  care.  Cer- 
tainly the  perplexity  was  greater  because  ways  and 
means  had  to  be  carefully  considered  in  this  house- 
hold. But  Ethel  was  far-sighted  enough  to  perceive 
that  added  wealth  would  not  necessarily  assure  dimin- 
ished care.  The  question  could  not  be  solved  by 
money  alone;  yet  there  must  be,  she  thought,  some 
way  of  solving  it. 

Just  then  a  quick  whir,  a  rustle  of  leaves,  and  a 
rather  more  than  usual  twittering  and  chirping,  caused 
her  to  look  up.  Robin  Redbreast  had  brought,  in 
triumph,  a  long  tangle  of  string  to  weave  into  its  half- 
built  nest. 


feqiMgaj^^fltfiiaiWrkitrlfa*:^ 


BTHKL'S  PEBPLEZITIS8. 


11 


share  with  her 
summer  and 
era  and  sisters 
small  care  it 
Ithel,  however, 
energy.    She 
ler  tastefully, 
ell  as  new — a 
tose  means  are 
yns. 

anted  to  tuck 
orately  as  the 
ometimes,  the 
T  these  things 
ost. 

ad  again,  and 
d  care.  Cer- 
use ways  and 
in  this  house- 
fh  to  perceive 
assure  dimin- 
ne  solved  by 
hought,  some 

leaves,  and  a 
rping,  caused 
I  brought,  in 
into  its  half- 


Ethel's  work  dropped  on  her  lap,  and  she  gazed 
dreamily  out,  watching  the  busy  little  birds,  flitting 
to  and  fro  rmong  the  sunlit  branches;  watching  the 
constant  interchange  of  light  and  shadow,  as  the  sun- 
beams glided  down  among  the  dancing  leaves  to  play 
on  the  gnarled  trunk  and  boughs  of  the  old  elm  tree. 
How  full  of  life  the  world  of  nature  was,  this  bright 
noontide!  Busy  life — not  anxiaua  life.  Ah,  that 
made  all  the  difference;  that  was  the  reason  why  the 
outer  world  was  so  full  of  joy,  whilst  the  inner  one 
was  so  full  of  care.  Did  the  Father  above  intend  that 
his  children  should  be  fretted  and  careworn,  while 
all  the  universe  around  was  rejoicing?  Surely  not 
Had  not  the  Lord  of  all  drawn  lessuns  from  bird  and 
3ower  for  anxious  mortals  ?  Had  he  not  said :  "  Take 
no  thought  [anxious  thought]  for  the  morrow  "  ?  But 
how  can  we  help  being  anxious,  how  can  we  help 
taking  thought  for  or.r  raiment,  what  we  shall  put 
on  ?  And,  with  the  question  still  unanswered,  Ethel 
turned  to  her  work  again. 

As  she  drew  a  thread  from  her  work-basket,  a  little 
crumpled  piece  of  paper  fell  to  the  floor.  She  stooped 
to  pick  it  up.  It  was  one  of  Georgie's  reward  cards, 
torn  by  busy  little  fingers.  "  I  declare,"  said  Ethel, 
half  aloud,  "that  is  some  of  baby's  work."  She 
straightened  it  out,  and  these  were  the  words  that 
met  her  eyes :  "  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom — "  the 
rest  had  been  torn  off.  She  read  it  over  again 
slowly,  as    though    it    contained    some    new   idea, 


> 


TH&E£  OIBLS. 

and  almost  involuntarily  said  aloud,  "What  kinir- 

i!.thel  had  known  the  text  ainoe  childhood.     "Seek 
ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  his  righteouanew." 
How  often  she  had  read  it  I    How  litUe  meaning  she 
had  attached  to  it  I    But  now  this  little  fragmenrof  a 
text  suddenly  became  luminous,  arU  flashed  a  ray  of 
brightness  on  her  difficulties.     In  the  light  of  this 
command  those  other  precepts  bec«iue  clear.     Ethel 
had  found  help  for  that  day,  and  many  days  to  come. 
The  gkd  look  came  back  to  her  face,  and  she  began 
to  smg,  while  her  busy  fingers  worked  faster  than 
before. 

It  was  not  long  before  voices  in  the  hall  below 
announced  the  arrival  of  the  children  from  school. 
I'resently  Millie  came  up  to  her  sister's  room.  She 
was  just  twelve,  but  already  almost  as  tall  as  Ethel 
J^Imgmg  down  her  school-books,  she  sank  into  a 
rockinguchair,  and  began  to  fan  herself  vigorously. 

Oh,  Ethel,  you  wouldn't  believe  how  hot  it  is.  I 
am  nearly  roasted.  It's  lovely  and  cool  here.  I  wish 
I  could  stay  home,  instead  of  going  to  school " 

"  Stay  home  and  sew  I "  suggested  Ethel,  mischiev- 
ously.   She  knew  MUlie  disliked  sewing. 

"Yes,  I  would  sew.  1  would  rather  do  that  than 
study-some  things ;  and  then  at  home  you  could 
leave  off  when  you  wanted  to.** 

"  I  wonder  how  much  wotk  would  be  done,  if  we 
always  left  off  whenever  we  wanted  to,"  said  Ethel. 


■  ■fe3fe4^--f>h.'3!'-j.'  ^t*?.'.,. 


"What  king- 
d,  of  amrae. 
hood.     « Seek 
ighteousnesB." 
s  meaning  she 
fragment  of  a 
shed  a  ray  of 
light  of  this 
clear.     Ethel 
iayg  to  come, 
nd  she  began 
1  faster  than 

e  hall  below 
from  school. 
I  room.    She 
tall  as  Ethel 
3ank  into  a 
igorously. 
hot  it  is.    I 
sre.    I  wish 
iool." 
)1)  mischiev- 

io  that  than 
>  you  coald 

done,  if  we 
tid  Ethel. 


Ethel's  pebplexitieb. 


13 


Millie  made  no  answer  to  this ;  then  she  sud,  ab- 
ruptly :  "  Didn't  yoo  hate  algebra  when  you  went  to 
school?" 

"  I  don't  remember  hating  it." 

"  Oh,  you  never  hate  anything  ;  but  T  do  dittlike 
migebra,  and  I  never  shall  ike  it.  I  got  on  pretty 
well  at  first,  and  then  I  missed  fractions  when  I  was 
sick  in  the  winter ;  and  there  is  so  much  to  work  up, 
and  I  cannot  understand  the  reason  for  half  the  things 
I  do.  Mr.  Parkhurst  tried  to  explain  things  to  me 
this  morning,  but  I  could  not  see  them  any  clearer. 
The  other  girls  are  working  problems,  and  I  am  just 
discouraged.    I  hate  to  be  behind  all  the  time." 

"  Well,  then,  go  on  and  work  problems  with  them, 
and  we  will  look  over  fractions  together  at  home. 
You  will  understand  the  theory  better  as  you  practice 


>i 


more. 

"Perhaps  I  will,"  said  Millie,  brightening  up. 
"  And  now,  to  change  the  subject,  Ethel,  don't  you 
think  I  could  wear  my  gingham  dress  this  afternoon  ? 
I  am  so  warm  in  this." 

"  I  should  think  not.  Why,  you  have  quite  out- 
grown it,  Millie." 

"  Well,  then,  I  wish  mother  would  get  a  new  one, 
right  away." 

"  Miss  Fanjoy  is  coming  this  week  to  sew ;  bat  you 
needn't  fret,  there  will  be  more  cool  weather.  This 
warm  day  is  simply  a  warning  to  prepare  for  summer. 
But  there  is  the  dinner  bell.    Come,  Millie,  we  must 


1        s 


i   ■ 


w 


14 


TUBKE  QIULS. 


I. 


not  keep  them  waiting."  And  Ethel  folded  up  her 
work,  slipped  thimble  and  scissors  into  place,  and  put 
away  her  work-basket ;  whilst  Millie  vainly  searched 
for  her  drawing  book,  which  she  afterward  recol- 
lected she  had  left  downstairs.  "  A  place  for  o very- 
thing,  and  everything  la  its  place,"  was  a  motto  as 
constantly  present  to  Ethel's  mind  as  it  was  oonspicu- 
ously  alwent  from  Millie's. 

The  two  girU  went  down  together  to  the  cool,  shady 
dining  room,  where  the  rest  of  the  family,  with  the 
exception  of  Mr.  Gladwyn,  who  did  not  come  home 
until  evening,  were  gathered  for  dinner.     The  central 
figure,  of  course,  was  mother,  always  so  serene,  so 
cheerful,  so  ready  to  enter  into  the  joys  and  son-ows 
of  her  children.     Home  would  not  be  home  without 
her.    She  had  reached  life's  prime,  and  had  borne 
her  share  of  its  cares  and  burdens;  yet  her  brow  was 
not  careworn,  and  her  heart  was  still  youthful.     Per- 
haps some  will  imagine  this  was  because  she  had  a 
natural  oipacity  for  throwing  off  care,  or  a  faculty  for 
taking  life  easily ;   such,  however,  was  not  the  case. 
The  secret  was  this :  Mrs.  Gladwyn  had  early  learne<l 
to  bring  every  real  care  to  her  Heavenly  Father,  and 
leave  it  with  him ;  while  every  unnecessary  care  she 
laid  aside— a  secret  which  Ethel,  who  closely  resem- 
bled her  mother,  both  in  appearance  and  disposition, 
had  yet  to  learn. 

Next  in  age  to  Ethel  came  Harry,  a  bright  boy  of 
fourteen ;  then  Millie,  of  whom  mention  has  already 


MlMHii'aWitlwilifcWanilrnW 


£rUEI.'8   OEKPLEZiriKB. 


IS 


Ided  up  her 
laoe,and  put 
nly  searched 
•ward  recul- 
»  for  overy- 
i  a  motto  as 
as  oouapicu- 

)  cool,  shady 
ly,  with  the 
como  home 
The  central 
I  serene,  so 
md  sori'ows 
tue  without 
had  borne 
»r  brow  was 
hfnl.     Per- 
e  she  had  a 
faculty  for 
)t  the  case, 
irly  Iearne<l 
Pather,  and 
py  care  she 
sely  resem- 
disposition, 

jht  boy  of 
tas  already 


been  made.  And  they  were  both  growing  so  tall 
thit  they  began  to  call  Mrs.  Qladwyn  "  litth  mother." 
Then  there  was  Bessie,  who  was  nearly  ten,  Qeorgie, 
a  lively  little  fellow  of  six,  and  baby  Clarence,  the 
pet  of  the  household,  and  just  the  dearest  baby  that 
ever  lived.  He  had  reached  his  second  year,  and  his 
attempts  at  talking  proval  a  constant  source  of  amuse- 
ment to  his  brothers  and  sisters. 

Ami  now  you  will  want  to  know  something  of  their 
home.  It  was  a  large,  old-fashioned  house,  standing 
on  a  corner  of  a  quiet,  shady  street.  It  had  been 
built  years  before,  in  the  days  when  Melvin  was  only 
a  village,  and  houses  were  few  and  fur  between,  and 
land  was  not  so  valuable  as  at  present.  So,  though 
it  looked  very  plain  alongside  of  its  more  modern 
neighbors,  with  their  French  roofs,  projecting  win- 
dows, and  liltlo  balconies,  it  had  its  compensations ; 
for  at  one  side  tiicre  was  a  large,  old  garden,  with 
fruit  trees  and  lilac  bushes,  roses  and  peonies,  that 
had  been  planted  long  ago  by  the  former  owner,  with 
many  other  pretty  flowerH,  that  the  girls  took  delight 
in  tending.  On  the  side  of  the  house  next  to  the 
garden  was  a  broad  veranda,  partially  covered  with 
ivy,  where  easy  chairs  and  a  hammock  proved  very 
inviting  on  long  summer  afternoons  and  evenings. 

The  house  itself  was  well  adapted  for  a  family ;  for 
it  was  roomy,  and  its  large  closets,  pantries,  and  store- 
rooms would  have  delighted  the  heart  of  any  house- 
keeper.    But  perhaps  that  which  impressed  one  most 


ki 


H 


TUBEK  OIRU. 


WM  the  air  of  comfort  which  pervaded  the  whole 
house.  There  waa  no  stately  drawing  room  shut  off 
from  daily  use,  and  filled  wiUi  costly  furniture  and 
brio-a-brac,  at  the  expense  of  all  the  other  rooms.  It 
is  true  there  was  a  purlor,  tastefully,  though  not  ex- 
pensively, furnished ;  but  it  was  always  open,  and 
often,  after  dinner,  Mrs.  Oladwyn  would  while  away 
•  pleasant  half-hour  there,  reading  some  favorite  au- 
thor, or  glancing  over  the  pages  of  a  new  magasine. 
In  the  twilight,  Ethel  would  sit  down  at  the  piano  to 
pla^  for  her  father,  who  dearly  loved  music.  Even 
Harry  found  it  pleasant  to  read  his  book  of  adven- 
tures in  the  cool,  shady  room,  which  looked  very 
inviting  on  hot  days. 

Well,  what  difference  did  it  make,  after  all?  Could 
they  not  have  enjoyed  the  books  and  the  music  just 
as  well  in  the  ordinary  living  room  ?  I  do  not  say 
they  could  not ;  and  yet  the  room  in  which  were  gath- 
ered their  choicest  things  hud  a  refining  influence, 
which  waa  felt  almost  unconsciously. 


tdvd  the  whole 
;  room  shut  off 
f  furnitare  and 
ther  rooms.  It 
though  not  ez- 
vaya  open,  and 
uld  while  away 
me  favorite  au- 
I  new  niagaaine. 
I  at  the  piano  to 
I  music.  Even 
Dook  of  adven- 
3h  looked  very 

fterall?  Could 
1  the  music  just 
I  do  not  say 
hich  were  gath- 
Ining  influence, 


"  T  SUPPOSE,  Ethel,  you  remember  that  the  mia- 

-L  sionary  meeting  is  held  this  afternoon,"  said 
her  mother,  as  they  rose  from  the  dinner  table. 

"  Oh,  dear  me  I  I  had  quite  forgotten  it"  Her 
tone  seemed  to  indicate  that  she  wished  her  mother 
had  forgotten  it  toe.  The  truth  was,  Ethel  had  made 
other  plans  for  that  atlemoon,  and  she  disliked  to 
have  them  disconcerted.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  meet> 
iugs  are  very  inconvenient  at  this  busy  season,"  she 
said. 

"Have  you  anything  special  to  do  to-day?"  in- 
quired her  mother. 

"  I  wanted  to  finish  Bessie's  waist  this  afternoon, 
and  then  I  thought  that  perhaps  we  could  do  some 
shopping  together ;  and  I  really  ought  to  go  in  and  see 
Aunt  Margaret." 

"  It  is  not  aWlutely  necessary  to  finish  the  waist 
to-day.  As  to  the  shoppiug,  we  can  go  to-morrow 
morning,  which  will  be  a  better  time ;  and  I  have  no 
doubt  you  will  have  time  to  go  and  seo  Aunt  Mar- 
garet after  the  meeting.  A  couple  of  hours  a  month 
is  not  a  great  amount  of  time  to  give  up  to  a  good 
cause,  even  at  this  busy  season." 


tw^ip 


\i 


THREE  OIBLf>. 

How  very  little  the  time  seemed  when  it  was  put  in 
that  way  !  Ethel  felt  quite  ashamed,  and  jast  then 
the  text  of  the  morning  came  stealing  into  her  mind  : 
"  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God."  Yet  she  had 
felt  unwilling,  for  a  little  time,  to  turn  aside  from  the 
cares  of  earth  to  unite  with  others  in  asking  that  that 
kingdom  might  come,  and  with  them  learn  of  its 
progress  in  the  world.  Ought  she  not,  rather,  to  be 
glad  of  such  an  opportunity?  This  thought  put  a 
new  aspect  on  missionary  meetings.  Both  Ethel  and 
her  friend,  Grace  Maynard,  had  decided  some  months 
before  to  regularly  attend  the  meetings  of  the  Woman's 
Missionary  Aid  Society  in  connection  with  their 
church,  and  hitherto  hnd  kept  their  resolution  pretty 
faithfully.  But  I  cannot  say  that  either  of  them  felt 
as  much  interest  in  missionary  work  as  she  ought, 
perhaps  not  so  much  as  she  would  have  liked  to  fbel. 

Ethel  was  soon  ready  to  accompany  her  mother. 
On  their  way  they  called  for  Grace,  only  to  find  her 
out." 

"  Perhaps  she  has  foi^otten  it,  as  I  did,"  said 
Ethel.  "  Or,  possibly,  she  intends  to  go,  but  cannot 
be  there  until  later." 

There  were  not  many  at  the  meeting;  as  Ethel  had 
said,  it  was  a  busy  time.  Some,  doubtless,  were  un^ 
avoidably  detained.  Some,  perhaps,  might  have 
gone  if  they  had  only  thought  so.  Yet  to  Ethel  it 
was  a  very  pleasant  ahd  interesting  meeting.  It 
.seemed  quite  different  from  former  meetings.    Was 


hen  it  was  put  in 
d,  and  just  then 
;  into  her  mind  : 
I."  Yet  she  had 
rn  aside  from  the 

asking  that  that 
>em  learn  of  its 
not,  rather,  to  be 
s  thought  put  a 

Both  Ethel  and 
led  some  months 
s  of  the  Woman's 
tion  with  their 
resolution  pretty 
ther  of  them  felt 
'k  as  she  ought, 
ave  liked  to  feel, 
any  her  mother, 
only  to  find  her 


said 


as  I  did," 

to  go,  but  cannot 


ig;  as  Ethel  had 
tbtless,  were  un~ 
)S,  might  have 
Yet  to  Ethel  it 
ig  meeting.  It 
meetings.    Was 


it  not  because  she  realized,  as  never  before,  that  they 
had  oome  together  to  pray  and  work  for  CSiribf  s 
kingdom.  If  dear  to  Christ,  it  surely  must  be  dear 
to  his  child — his  loyal  follower.  Yes,  Ethel  rejoiced 
to  feel  it  was  dear  to  her ;  and  she  took  a  new  interest 
in  the  letters  of  the  missionaries  r^arding  their  work, 
their  trials  and  joys,  their  encouragements  and  dis- 
couragements. Though  Ethel  kept  hoping  that  Grace 
would  be  there,  the  hour  passed,  and  she  did  not 
come. 

After  the  meeting,  EtheJ  w«nt  to  call  on  Aunt 
Mai^iret,  an  invalid  aunt  of  Mr.  Gladwyn.  She  was 
a  dear  old  lady,  and  was  very  fond  of  her  nephew 
and  his  wife  and  family.  She  was  particularly  at- 
tached to  Ethel.  Perhaps  it  was  natural  that  she 
should  take  a  livelier  interest  in  the  eldest  child  than 
in  any  of  the  others.  She  had  watched  her  grow  up 
from  childhood  into  young  womanhood,  and  now  no 
one,  she  thought,  oould  do  anything  better  than  could 
Ethel. 

To  Ethel,  Aunt  Margaret's  house  was  almost  the 
same  as  homo  ;  her  earliest  recollections  wore  inter* 
woven  with  it.  How  well  she  remembered  the  happy 
days  she  used  to  spend  there  !  How  she  would  sit 
in  the  little  rocking-chair  that  belonged  to  Aunt  Mar- 
garet When  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  hold  the  big  doll, 
almost  as  large  as  herself,  that  had  also  descended 
from  that  remote  period.  Then  dolly  would  be  put 
to  sleep  on  the  so&,  while  Ethel  went  to  the  kitchen 


f. 


-»'^»_ 


hirlit'lii't-'iiliiir 


SO 


THREE  GIRTJS. 


to  watch  her  aunt  make  pies,  always  sure  that  she 
would  have  a  little  one  all  for  herself.  Then  she 
would  put  on  her  pink  sun-bonnet,  and  away  she 
would  run  to  the  garden,  chasing  Frisk,  the  little 
dog,  round  and  round  the  narrow  paths,  till  at  last, 
tired  out,  she  was  glad  to  rest  in  the  shade,  and  eat  a 
piece  of  Aunt  Margaret's  currant  cake,  better  cake, 
she  was  sure,  never  having  been  made. 

Ah,  those  happy  careless  days  of  childhood  ;  how 
full  of  sunshine  they  were  I  Ethel  often  looked  back 
to  them  now,  yet  not  regretful-y.  She  was  glad  to  be 
of  some  use  in  the  world  ;  she  would  not  be  always 
only  careless  and  happy. 

Aunt  Margaret  was  not  able  to  go  about  her  house 
now  as  once  she  did,  and  there  was  always  something 
Ethel  could  do ;  reading  the  newspaiier,  or  arranging 
flowers,  or  trimming  a  cap,  or  directing  Ruth,  the 
faithful  domestic,  in  the  preparation  of  some  new  and 
dainty  dish,  Ethel  was  always  ready,  and  equally  at 
home  in  all.  To-day  Aunt  Margaret  must  have  out 
her  last  summer's  dress,  and  ask  Ethel's  advice  as  to 
making  some  alterations  in  it.  Ethel's  decision  proved 
satisfactory,  and  she  promised  to  come  some  day  soon 
and  show  Ruth  how  to  make  the  needed  alterations ; 
for  Ruth  not  having  much  housework,  did  most  of 
Aunt  Margaret's  sewing.  Then  Ethel  told  her  aunt 
about  the  meeting  that  afternoon,  sure  of  an  interested 
listener  J  for  Aunt  Margaret  was  heartily  in  i^mpathy 
with  all  the  good  that  was  doing  sveirywheie,  and 


r-..rT.T^"!lJ!llUMI| 


I  sure  that  she 
elf.  Tbeu  she 
and  away  she 
risk,  the  little 
iths,  till  at  last, 
hade,  and  eat  a 
ke,  better  cake, 

bildhood ;  how 

en  looked  back 

was  glad  to  be 

not  be  always 

bout  her  house 
fayB  something 
I*,  or  arranging 
ing  Ruth,  the 
some  new  and 
and  equally  at 
must  have  out 
's  advice  as  to 
lecisiou  proved 
some  day  soon 
sd  alterations ; 
;  did  most  of 
told  her  aunt 
fan  interested 
Y  in  sympathy 
Jirywhere,  and 


SEED  SOWING. 


81 


rejoiced  to  see  the  young  people  taking  hold  of  the 
work  from  which  she  had  been  laid  aside. 

Ethel  went  home  with  something  of  the  pleasure 
that  comes  from  the  consciousness  of  having  "  looked 
on  the  things  of  others  "  for  a  while.  She  found  time 
to  finish  the  waist  before  tea ;  so  she  accomplished  the 
best  part  of  what  she  planned  after  all.  Tea  was 
only  just  finished  when  Grace  Maynard  came  in.  She 
and  Ethel  read  French  together,  aud  this  was  their 
evening  for  study. 

"You  were  not  at  the  meeting  this  afternoon, 
Grace,"  said  Ethel,  as  they  went  up  together  to  her 
room. 

"  No,  I  was  too  busy  to  go  this  afternoon;  we  have 
a  dressmaker  at  the  house,  and  you  know  what  that 
means.  I  have  been  trying  to  decide  how  to  have 
my  sateen  dress  trimmed.  I  intend  to  have  lace  on 
it,  and  I  wect  all  over  town  looking  for  some  to  suit. 
I  foimd  a  pretty  piece  at  last,  but  it  was  too  late  tlieii 
to  go  to  the  meeting." 

"  Would  it  not  look  as  well  without  the  lace,"  sug- 
gested Ethel,  who  did  not  care  for  so  much  decoration. 

"Oh,  it  might  do ;  but  it  would  not  look  so  dressy. 
You  see  the  Leslies  want  me  go  with  them  to  the 
seaside  this  summer.  Of  course  I  want  to  go,  and 
mother  would  like  to  have  me  go;  and  they  are 
such  stylish  girls  I  And  Leonore  says  that  Bay  View, 
where  they  are  going,  is  a  \  cry  fiwhionable  watering- 
place;  00,  of  oourse,  if  I  go,  I  want  to  look  as  well  as 


22 


THREE  OIRLB. 


the  rest  If  father  only  consents,  I  shall  go.  Most 
likely  he  will,  as  he  generally  does  everything  I  want 
him  to  do.  Now  for  our  French;  you  had  better 
begin,  Ethel." 

Ethel  and  Grace  had   been  schoolmates.    There 
was  also  a  stronger  bond  between  them,  for  they  had 
united  with  the  church  at  the  same  time.    In  dispo- 
sition, they  were  very  unlike;  so  much  so,  indeed, 
that  one  almost  wondered  at  the  attachment  between 
them.     Grace  was  a  gay,  lively  girl,  who  liked  noth- 
ing better  than  to  have  a  good  time,  and  gave  little 
thought  to  the  graver  questions  of  life  and  its  respon- 
sibilities.   But  Ethel  knew  that  within  there  was  a 
real  earnestness  which  would  make  her  a  power  for 
gKMl,  if  it  were  developed.    Grace  often  laughed  at 
Ethel;  called  her  a  philosopher  and  theorist,  and  de- 
clared that  her  ideals  were  too  high  for  ordinary 
mortals,  and  could  not  be  worked  out  in  a  world  like 
this.     Yet  she  really  respected  them,  and  tried  to 
realize  them,  more  even  than  Ethel  knew. 

The  reading  was  finished.  The  sun  had  just  dis- 
appeared beneath  the  horizon,  leaving  the  west  all 
aglow  with  golden  light  Swallows  wheeled  round 
and  round  in  airy  circles  and  robins  poured  forth 
their  happy  song.  The  busy  day  was  ended.  Nature 
was  ready  for  rest  Looking  out  on  that  quiet  even- 
ing scene,  Ethel  recalled  the  thoughts  of  the  morn- 
ing; perhaps  they  would  not  have  been  spoken  had 
not  Grace,  at  that  moment,  said: 


'^KtSMfc.t.-v-J 


■I 


1 


BEED  80WIMO. 


as 


lall  go.  Most 
rything  I  want 
f'ou  bad  better 

mates.  Tbere 
1,  for  they  bad 
Be.  In  dispo- 
cb  80,  indeed, 
iment  between 
10  liked  noth- 
and  gave  little 
ind  its  respou- 
n  there  was  a 
r  a  power  for 
in  laughed  at 
H>rist,  and  de- 
fer ordinary 
1  a  world  like 
and  tried  to 

had  just  dis- 
the  west  all 
heeled  round 
poured  forth 
ded.  Nature 
tt  quiet  even- 
>f  the  morn- 
spoken  had 


"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Ethel."  Ethel  hesi- 
tated. It  is  difficult,  often,  to  express  an  idea  that 
is  dear  to  one's  own  mind,  so  that  others  can  see  it 
too;  but  after  a  moment's  pause,  she  said: 

"I  was  thinking  of  a  text  that  came  to  me  with 
new  force  this  morning,— '  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom 
of  God.'    What  do  you  think  that  moans,  Grace?" 

"Why,  I  think— oh,  you  know  it  means,  of  course, 
that  we  should  seek  first  lo  become  Christians." 
"Seek  to  enter  the  kingdom,"  suggested  Ethel. 
"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  replied  Grace. 
"Doesn't  it  mean  something  more  than  that?    It 
has  seemed  to  me  so,  as  I  have  thought  about  it  to- 
day.   The  idea  came  to  me  as  it  had  never  done 
before,  that  having  entered  the  kingdom  of  God  we 
should  henceforth  make  it  our  chief  aim  to  advance 
that  kingdom." 

"Yes,  certainly;  all  religious  work  has  that  end 
in  view,  and  I  am  sure  we  try  to  do  our  share,"  said 
Grace,  complaceL^iy. 

« I  was  not  thinking  just  now  of  religious  work, 
as  you  term  it,  Grace.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  king- 
dom of  God  touches  our  lives  at  every  point,  that  the 
commonest  duties  bear  some  rektion  to  it,  and  that 
by  every  act  and  word  we  are  either  advancing  or 
hindering  its  coming." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  There  was  almost  a 
look  of  awe  on  Grace's  faoo  as  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,  Grace,  I  do ;  and  the  thought  has  been  a 


g^ 


24 


THKEG  OIRI^. 


,-  t- 


help  to  me,  for  I  can  spend  so  little  time  in  so-odM 
religious  work,  and  so  much  time  must  be  taken  up 
with  ordinary  duties  that  I  am  glad  to  know  that 
even  in  these  I  can  in  some  way  do  something  for 
that  kingdom.  I  have  been  so  perplexed  lately,  and 
now  I  feel  I  have  found  a  guiding  prinoiple.  It 
seems  to  me  it  simplifies  life  so,  to  have  this  one  gi-eat 
purpose  running  through  it ;  and  it  ennobles  it  too." 
"But,  Ethel,  how  can  these  ordinary  duties  of 
every-day  life  have  anything  to  do  with  Christ's 
kingdom?" 

"I  cannot  quite  tell  yet  how  everything  has  to  do 
with  it;  that  is  something  I  have  still  to  work  out. 
But  I  think  you  will  grant  that  those  who  j.rofess 
to  belong  to  Christ's  kingdom  ought  to  be  actuated 
by  a  diflferent  spirit  from  those  who  do  not.  What 
that  spirit  is  we  are  told  in  his  word,  for  it  says,— 
'  the  kingdom  of  God  is  righteousness  and  peace  and 
joy  in  tl  e  Holy  Ghost.'  Now,  these  are  elemeo*-} 
that  can  entor  into  every  act  of  our  lives,  and  the 
more  of  them  we  have  the  more  fruitful  our  lives 
will  be,  and  the  more  helpful  to  others." 

"Yes,  I  see  that;  but  lam  sure  there  are  some 
things  that  must  occupy  our  time  and  thoughts  that 
refer  only  to  this  world,  and  that  have  nothing  to  do 
with  spiritual  things.    Dress,  for  example." 

"  Why,  that  is  just  where  my  text  applies,"  replied 
Ethel,  her  dark  eyes  brightening  as  she  spoke.  Our 
Lord  had  been  speaKing  of  those  ever-present  ques- 


ae  in  so-calI<>d 
it  be  taken  up 
to  know  .that 
iometbing  for 
ed  lately,  and 
)rinoiple.  It 
tbis  one  gi-eat 
obles  it  too." 
iry  duties  of 
witb  Cbrist's 

ing  has  to  do 

to  work  out. 

who  })rofes8 

)  be  actuated 

not.    What 

or  it  says, — 

nd  peace  and 

are  elemec^i 

ivee,  and  the 

til  our  lives 

ire  are  some 
Noughts  that 
othing  to  do 


ies,"  replied 
ipoke.  Oar 
resent  ques- 


tions that  steal  away  no  much  of  our  time  and 
thoughts.  'What  shall  we  eat?  What  shall  we 
drink?  Wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed?'  And 
we  are  told  that  'after  these  things  do  the  nations 
of  the  world  seek ' ;  but  we  should  rather  *  seek  the 
kingdom  of  God.*  If  that  is  our  aim  we  will,  with 
regard  to  dress,  for  example,  be  simply  concerned  to 
have  it  convenient,  suitable,  and  within  our  means ; 
and  so,  whether  we  can  vie  with  our  neighbors  or  not 
will  be  a  matter  of  little  concern  to  us.  So,  also, 
many  other  matters,  deemed  all-important  by  the 
world,  will  take  tlie  second  place  in  our  thoughts 
because  of  this  other  ruling  thought :  this  higher  aim 
and  purpowj." 

"  That  ill  all  very  well  in  theory,  but  I  think  one 
could  hardly  put  it  in  practice." 

"  Not  in  one's  own  strength,  certainly ;  but  with 
divine  help  we  need  not  fear  to  try.  For  my  part, 
it  is  my  desire  and  purpose  to  'seek  first  the  kingdom 
of  God.'  Indeed,  how  can  I,  as  a  Christian,  do 
otherwise?" 

Ethel  spoke  thoughtfully  and  solemnly.  It  was 
as  though  she  had  anew  consecrated  herself  to  the 
Lord  who  had  bought  her.  The  Christian  pathway 
was  opening  up  before  her,  and  she  saw  more  plainly 
than  ever  before,  that  it  would  lead  far  from  worldly 
conformity ;  but  she  unhesitatingly  committed  herself 

to  it 
The  two  girls  sat  silent,  each  wrapped  in  her  own 


m 


fi 


26 


THREE  QlRJjB. 


thoughta.  In  the  one  heart  was  peace—the  peace 
that  oomes  to  those  who  own  Christ  as  all  in  all. 
In  the  other,  conflict— conflict  between  her  own  will 
and  the  higher  blessed  will  that  would  fain  lead 
her  in  paths  of  peace. 

While  they  had  been  talking,  the  twilight  had 
been  deepening,  and  now  eartii  lay  hushed  and  still 
in  the  gathering  darkness,  while  in  the  heavens 
above,  the  new  moon  waxed  momently  brighter,  and 
Htars  began  to  twinkle  faintly.  At  length,  Grace 
rose.  « I  must  go,  Ethel,"  rihe  said.  "  We  have 
sat  so  long  talking,  it  must  be  i'ate." 

"Do  not  go  yet,  Grace.  I  think  Harrv  has  gone 
for  the  mail;  when  he  comes  in,  he  will  go  home 
with  you." 

"1  cannot  stay  longer  to-night,  Ethel;  and  I  do 
not  want  any  one  to  go  with  me.  It  is  only  a  few 
steps,  you  know." 

"Grace,  let  us  both  try  to  carry  out  that  text  in 
our  daily  lives.     Will  you?" 

Grace  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  she  said:  "I 
do  not  see  the  text  quite  in  the  light  in  which  you 
do.  I  think  I  do  seek  the  advancement  of  Christ's 
kingdom.  I  will  try  to  do  it  more  faithfully."  She 
spoke  in  a  constrained  tone. 

Ethel  turned  away  disappointed.  She  was  voung 
and  enthusiastic.  She  wanted  those  whom  she' loved 
to  like  the  things  she  liked,  to  have  the  same  hopes 
and  aspirations,  to  view  truth  in  the  same  way.    It 


ice — the  peace 

as  all  in  all. 

I  her  own  will 

uld  fain  lead 

twilight  had 
ihed  and  still 

the  heavens 
brighter,  and 
length,  Grace 

"We  have 

arry  has  gone 
^ill  go  home 

H,  and  I  do 
18  only  a  few 

that  text  in 

ihe  said:  "I 
in  which  yoa 
t  of  Christ's 
fiiUy."     She 

5  was  young 

m  she  loved 

same  hopes 

ne  way.    It 


pained  her  that  they  should  think  differently.  She 
did  not  stop  ib  reflect  that  her  heart  had  been  pr^ 
pared  to  receive  the  truth,  while  to  Grace  it  had  come 
with  a  suddenness  which  made  it  unwelcome.  To 
say  the  truth,  Christian  though  she  was,  Grace  had 
always  thought  that  there  vere  some  things  that  be- 
longed to  religion,  and  tlierj  were  other  things  with 
which  it  had  no  concern  at  all ;  and  because  she  at- 
tended with  some  degree  of  faithfulness  to  her  re- 
ligious duties,  she  failed  to  realize  what  inroads  the 
world  was  making  upon  her  life. 

And  yet  nhe  would  sing  most  heartily,  "  All  for 
Jesus,  all  my  days  and  all  my  hours";  but,  even 
while  she  sang,  she  never  thought  that  cdl  meant  all. 
To-night  the  Good  Shepherd,  who  was  leading  her 
ever  onwai-d,  had  given  her  u  glimpse  into  a  life  more 
V  holly  devoted  to  him,  and  her  first  impulse  led  her 
to  shrink  back.  She  felt  that  she  did  not  want  to 
apply  Scripture  truths  so  closely  to  every-day  life. 
She  was  dimly  conscious  that  the  Bible  set  before 
Cmistians  a  high  standard  of  living.  She  was  sure 
she  could  not  attain  to  it,  so  she  felt  inclined  to  shut 
her  eyes,  and  go  on  as  thongh  it  was  not  there ;  yet 
the  truth  would  be  there  all  the  same,  and  she  would 
be  wronging  her  soul  by  turning  away  from  it. 

Some  such  thoughts  passed  through  Grace's  mind 
as  she  walked  slowly  homeward.  Conscience  had 
been  awakened  by  Etiiel's  words,  and  now  it  told  her 
she  might  have  been  at  the  missionary  meeting  that 


If 


•J 


28 


THREE  GIRLS. 


afternoon  instead  of  fuflsiug  over  ihe  trimming  of  a 
areas.  It  told  her,  moreover,  that  every  waking 
thought,  just  at  present,  was  given  to  planning  a  sum- 
mer outfit  88  liwhionahle  as  that  of  the  Leslies.  In 
trutli,  conscience  sjioke  far  too  loudly  for  Grace's  com- 
fort, and,  as  she  came  in  sight  of  home,  she  gladly 
dismissed  the  unwelcome  thoughts. 

There  was  a  light  in  the  sitting  room,  and,  as  it 
was  a  warm  evening,  the  windows  were  open.  Aa 
Grace  passed  by  on  the  piazza,  she  paused  to  look  in. 
Her  father  was  sitting  at  a  table  with  some  accounts 
spread  out  before  him :  her  mother  was  sitting  near, 
sewing. 

"  I  hardly  expected  this  bill  to  be  so  large,"  Mr. 
Mayuard  remarked,  taking  up  f  somewhat  extended 
account 

"  Nor  I,  either,"  returned  Mre.  M-ynard.  "  I  am 
sure  the  portiere  was  the  only  expensive  thing  bought, 
but  Grace  does  ull  the  shopping.  1  will  ask  her  to 
look  it  over  and  see  if  it  is  all  correct." 

"  Perhaps  she  might  economize  a  little." 

"  I  am  sure,  my  dear,  she  is  not  extravagant.  You 
know  girls  at  her  age  must  look  nice,  and  she  does 
look  pretty,  doesn't  she?" 

"  Yes ;  but  to  my  mind  she  would  look  just  as 
pretty  witho'-t  so  many  ribbons  and  laces." 

"  You  are  no  judge;  you  are  so  very  quiet  in  your 
tastes,"  returned  his  wife.  "  Besides  it  is  the  fashion, 
and  she  must  be  in  the  fashion." 


"  mrr  "m  r  ifjiiiiiiiiimi 'iu 


rimming  of  ■ 
ivery  wuking 
inning  a  sum- 
!  Leslies.  In 
Grace's  oora- 
e,  she  gladly 

>m,  and,  as  it 
re  open.  Am 
ed  to  look  in. 
ome  accounts 
sitting  near, 

>  largo,"  Mr. 
hat  extended 

ird.  "  I  am 
hing  bought, 
II  ask  her  to 


agant.    You 
ind  she  does 


ook  Just  as 


[uiet  in  your 
the  fashion, 


SEED  SOWIMG.  W 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Mr.  Maynard ;  and  Grace 
thought  she  heard  him  sigh,  as  he  turned  back  to  the 
pile  of  papers  before  him. 

Poor,  dear,  patient  father,  never  complaining,  only 
working  a  little  harder  when  the  demands  made  upon 
him  were  greater.  Grace  saw  to-night  what  she  had 
never  noticed  before,  that  he  was  aging.  How  gray  his 
hair  M'as  getting,  and  how  deep  were  tiie  lines  of  caro 
on  his  forehead.  She  remembered  how  little  recreation 
he  had  taken  during  the  past  year,  and  how  late  he 
worked,  and  she  realized  in  that  moment,  as  she  never 
had  before,  the  self-sacrificing  devotion  of  her  father 
to  liis  family.  Strange  that  such  a  vision  cpmes  but 
seldom.     Alas,  it  sometimes  comes  too  late  I 

None  would  have  guessed  that  any  such  emotions 
had  stirred  Grace's  heart,  as  she  came  gayly  into  the 
room  a  moment  or  two  later.  She  just  seemed  the 
same  careless,  happy  Grace  that  she  always  was. 

"  Here,  you  extravagant  little  girl,  look  at  this. 
You  will  ruin  your  poor  father  at  this  rate,"  said  Mr. 
Maynard. 

And  Grace  only  said :  "  You  see  what  a  dreadful 
thing  it  id  to  have  daughters,  papa."  And  she  looked 
at  him  with  such  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eye,  that  he 
had  to  smile  a  little  in  spite  of  himself.  "  Never 
mind,"  she  added,  consolingly,  "  Perhaps  I  may  be 
married  some  day,  and  off  your  hands." 

"  I  pity  the  man  who  gets  you,  my  dear,"  returned 
her  father. 


30 


THREE  aiRUI. 


*  I 


"So  do  I,  pe|)a,  with  all  my  heart."  And  ao  the 
lively  talk  went  on;  while  Grace  looked  over  the 
atroouut,  and  for  the  first  time  realized  how  qiiinkly 
little  things  count  up.  She  ecriously  pondered 
wlitther  many  of  them  were  not  quite  unnecciiaary. 
Wiien  she  had  finished,  she  said  : 

"  I  am  going  to  turn  ovrr  a  new  leaf,  papa.  You 
will  be  surprised  to  see  how  economical  I  shall  be." 

"  It  will  be  a  surprise,  I  am  sure,"  returned  her 
father.  He  thought  it  only  a  passing  resolve,  which 
would  give  way  at  the  first  temptation.  How  should 
he  know  there  were  really  serious  thoughts  In  his  gay 
young  daughter's  heart. 

When  Grace  went  to  her  room,  the  first  thing  that 
met  iier  eye  was  the  sateen  dress,  and  instantly  the 
conflict  began.  Here  waa  an  opportunity  to  put  in 
practice  her  resolve.  She  might  do  without  the  laco 
trimmings  she  had  planned.  This,  however,  she 
found  she  did  not  at  all  wish  to  do.  "It  is  only  a  mat- 
ter of  a  dollar  or  two  ;  how  little  difierem*  timt  will 
make  ! "  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  can  begin  to  eo(»no- 
mize  on  the  next  thing."  Something  within  whis- 
pered :  "  It  will  be  harder  next  time ; "  and  she  knew 
that  was  true — knev  ♦•'at  if  she  did  not  begin  now, 
she  would  most  likely  not  begin  at  all. 

Then  she  began  to  think  of  other  things  in  which 
she  might  economize.  Ye«j,  there  was  much  she  might 
do  without,  she  knew.  But  theu  It  meant,  she  thought, 
giving  up  the  society  of  the  Leslies  j  for  she  never 


iWBIHssjg^w; 


And  ao  the 
>kcd  over  the 
how  qiiinkly 
isly  pondered 
s  unnetieoaary. 


f,  papa.  You 
I  shall  be." 

returned  her 
resolve,  which 

How  should 
Its  in  his  gay 

rst  thing  that 
instantly  the 
iity  to  put  in 
hout  the  lace 
however,  she 
8  only  a  mat- 
mve  tliat  will 
'gin  to  eoono- 
within  whis- 
ind  she  knew 
it  begin  now, 

ngs  in  which 
ich  she  might 
,  she  thought, 
l>r  she  never 


BEKD  SOWING.  •* 

oouM  go  In  that  set  if  she  di-essed  so  plainly.  Yet 
»fter  all,  would  that  im  a  very  great  losa?  She  knew 
that  the  Leslies  cared  not  for  the  kingdom  of  which 
she  was  a  member ;  certainly  did  not  »eek  it  in  the 
way  of  which  Ethel  had  fl|M)kcn  that  evening.  How 
much  would  she  be  the  gainer  if  she  grew  to  think  at 
they  did,  and  live  as  they  did  ?  Grace  did  not  care 
to  face  that  question  just  now.  She  would  so  much 
rather  drift  along  without  thinking  about  these  things. 

There  was  one  thing,  however,  she  must  decide  that 
night ;  and  that  was  about  the  trimming  on  her  dresa. 
"  I  think  I  will  give  it  up,"  she  said  to  herself;  then 
she  took  up  a  little  piece  of  lace  she  had  brought  as  a 
sample,  and  tried  it  against  the  dress.  How  well  it 
looked  I  She  begun  to  waver.  "  1  believe  I  mud 
huve  it  after  all,"  she  baid,  aloud. 

Ah,  that  convenient  word  "  must " ;  how  often  it 
serves  to  cover  a  selfish  determination  with  the  cloak 
of  apparent  necessity  I 

But  just  at  this  moment  a  thought  of  her  father's 
careworn  and  anxious  face  crossed  Grace's  mind.  It 
was  enough  ;  she  unpinned  the  scrap  of  lace,  and 
tossed  it  aside ;  then  as  she  hung  up  the  dress,  she 
said,  resolutely:  "There,  Grace  Ma>Dard,  you  are 
not  going  to  have  one  bit  of  lace  on  this  dress ;  not 
me  bit  J  And  this  is  only  the  beginning  of  economy, 
now  mind." 

Miss  Norcross,  the  dressmaker,  felt  somewhat  disap- 
pointed when  she  found  that  Grace  had  decided  to  do 


•J 


iJ&Z^^iT^'^^'Wsw^^ 


,..^i.j  ,  .,>'-.,i^V^'^?'^^?S!^Si 


r 


THREE  OIBT^. 


without  the  elaborate  trimming  they  had  designed  the 
day  before.  But  as  she  saw  that  Grace  had  made  up 
her  mind,  she  had  the  ready  tact  to  fall  in  with  her 
views,  saying  that  the  dress  would  certainly  look  very 
quiet  and  ladylike  j  which  had  the  effect  to  make 
Grace  feel  quite  satisfied  with  her  decision. 


"I 


od  designed  the 
e  had  made  up 
all  in  with  her 
ainly  look  very 
effect  to  make 
lioo. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ORACE  MAYNARB's  BESOLYE. 


A  8  the  days  went  on,  Grace  did  not  find  it  an  easy 
-^  task  to  ke^p  the  resolve  she  had  so  firmly 
made  r^arding  her  expenditures.  She  had  always 
been  indulged  in  everything,  and  the  idea  of  giving 
up  anything  on  which  her  heart  had  been  set,  was 
quite  new  to  her.  She  was  very  desirous  now  of 
going  to  Bay  View  with  the  Leslies.  She  knew  it 
would  be  an  expensive  trip,  and  she  had  begun  to 
question  lately  whether  her  father  could  afford  it; 
yet,  every  day,  the  prospect  of  spending  a  few  weeks 
there  grew  more  enticing.*  She  would  see  so  much 
more  of  society  there  than  she  possibly  could  in  the 
quiet  town  in  which  she  lived. 

Grace  loved  gaiety  and  excitement.  She  knew  too, 
that  she  possessed  qualities  that  would  make  her  a 
social  success.  It  seemed  to  her,  the  more  she 
thought  about  it,  that  it  would  be  foolish  to  throw 
away  such  a  good  chancb.  The  temptation  grew 
eveu  stionger  when  Leonore  brought  the  news  that 
a  cousin  of  theirs  from  New  York,  a  wealthy  young 
man,  had  decided  to  spend  part  of  the  summer  at  the 
seaside  with  them.  "  And  I  wrote  him,"  she  said, 
archly,  "  that  we  should  be  accompanied  by  a  charm- 

o  M 


^i,&femjMagg 


} 


34 


THBEE  GIRLS. 


ing  young  lady.    Now,  after  tb.at,  I  am  sure  you 
will  not  refuse  to  go  with  us." 

"  What  a  dreadful  girl  you  are,  Leonore,"  said 
Grace.    "lam  not  at  all  sure  that  I  can  go." 

"  Oh,  you  must  I  we  will  have  such  splendid  times 
together.  This  is  Saturday ;  and  you  must  make  up 
your  mind  before  Monday^  Grace." 

"Very  well.  I  \s\\\  let  you  know  for  certain, 
then." 

As  Grace  .ralked  ho-::^rd,  she  felt  her  firm  reso- 
Intions  of  a  few  days  before  melting  away  like  snow 
before  a  March  sun.  The  feelings  that  she  had  then 
experienced  had  given  way  to  others.  After  all,  her 
father  could  not  be  very  much  worried  over  his  busi- 
ness. The  firm  was  prosperous.  Who  ever  heard 
of  the  firm  of  Maynard  &  Perry  being  otherwise? 
Why  should  she  not  have  all  she  wanted?  Yet  she 
fancied  lier  father  would  rather  that  she  would  not 
go.  She  resolved  to  ask  him,  and  find  out  for  cer- 
tain. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  she  had  a  chance 
to  talk  to  her  father  alone;  for  he  was  busy  in  the 
little  room  he  called  his  office  for  some  time.  When, 
at  length,  he  had  finished,  Grace  called  him  out  on 
the  vemnda. 

"It  is  such  a  lovely  evening,  papa,"  sLe  said,  "you 
ought  to  be  out  here  enjoying  it." 

"Business  before  pleiosure,  my  daughter;  but  it  i« 
damp,  child ;  you  will  catch  cold." 


-jiJijV-'.--'^V';i!**>*'^ 


[  am  sure  yon 

Leonore,"   said 
can  go." 
1  splendid  times 
1  must  niake  up 

ow  for  certain, 

It  her  firm  reso- 
away  like  snow 
lat  she  had  then 
,  After  all,  her 
id  over  his  busi- 
^ho  ever  heard 
>eing  otherwise? 
inted?  Yet  she 
t  she  would  not 
Snd  out  for  oer- 

be  had  a  chance 
was  busy  in  the 
le  time.  When, 
lied  him  out  on 

"  sl.e  said,  "you 

lighter;  but  it  is 


OBACE  MAYNARO'S  BESOLVE. 


35 


,  "Oh,  I  am  only  going  to  stay  a  few  minutes,  and 
I  have  a  shawl.  Now,  tell  me,  like  a  dear,  good 
fathci,  whether  I  can  go  to  Bay  View  this  summer  " 

She  was  a  good  deal  disappointed  when,  after  a 
moment's  pante,  Mr.  Maynard  answered,  slowly : 

"I  would  much  rather  you  would  not  go,  if  yon 
can  content  yourself  elsewhere." 

"  Of  course,  I  will  not  go  if  you  do  not  wish  it," 
said  Grace. 

Her  father  noticed  the  regret  in  her  voice,  and 
answered :  "  I  do  not  want  you  to  give  it  up  against 
your  will,  daugiiter." 

Grace  made  no  answer.  Her  thought  was,  I  can- 
not give  it  up  in  any  other  way.  "  You  cannot  afford 
it?  "  siie  questioned,  after  a  few  moments  of  silence. 

"  Hardly,"  was  the  reply. 

Nothing  more  was  said.  Mr.  Maynard  was  not 
accustomed  to  talk  of  his  affairs  to  his  family,  and 
Grace  felt  no  inclination  to  ask  further  questions. 
She  went  to  her  room  sadly  disappointed.  She  felt 
that  she  ought  to  give  up  her  bright  plans  for  the 
summer ;  yet  it  seemed  very  hard  for  her  to  do  so. 
Siie  had  been  looking  forward  to  this  visit  with  the 
highest  anticipation.  Now  there  seemed  nothing  but 
a  blank  left. 

Grace  arose  the  next  morning  listless  and  discon- 
tented, and  little  disposed  for  the  engagements  of  the 
Sabbath.  It  was  a  glorious  moi-ning,  this  first  Sun- 
day in  June.    Earth  was  bathed  in  sunshine;  the 


v.*^an  t'-.,-,-t:.'A*T'>»',i :. 


36 


THREE  OIBL8. 


little  birds  seemed  fairly  quivering  with  rapture,  fB 
they  trilled  their  happy  lays. 

But  Grace  felt  out  of  harmony  with  all  around,  as 
she  wallced  to  churoh  that  bright  morning.  At  the 
church  door  she  met  Ethel,  and  they  passed  in  to- 
gether. As  Grace  glanced  at  her  friend's  face,  there 
flashed  into  her  mind  the  words,  "  the  kingdom  of 
God  is  righteousness,  peace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy 
Ghost."  Something  of  that  joy  shone  in  the  face 
turned  toward  her.  Instinctively,  Grace  recognized 
it,  and  longed  that  she  also  might  experience  it. 

The  first  hymn  given  out  was  that  familiar,  old 
one,  containing  the  words : 

*'0h,  tuay  my  heart  in  tane  be  found, 
Like  David's  harp  of  solemn  sound." 

Tlie  hymn,  as  it  iiappened,  was  sung  to  a  familiar 
tune.  The  congregation  joined  in  the  singing,  and 
the  harmony,  borne  along  by  many  voices,  rolled 
grandly  through  the  church,  bringing  inspiration  to 
the  soul. 

AI) !  Grace  knew  that  her  soul  was  out  of  tune ; 
that  it  made  a  jarring  discord,  while  her  voice  blended 
with  others  in  sweetest  harmony.  She  wished  it  was 
otherwise,  and  determined  to  fix  her  thoughts  on  the 
service ;  but  before  the  prayer  was  ended,  she  realized 
that  she  had  completely  &iled.  In  spite  of  her  best 
efforts,  her  thoughts  wandered  far  away.  Siie  hoped 
for  something  helpful  in  the  sermon,  and  felt  disap- 
pointed when  the  morning  i^nnouncements  brought 


U  '■ 


with  rapture,  fM 

th  all  around,  as 
omiiig.  At  the 
ey  passed  in  to- 
iend's  face,  there 
the  kingdom  of 
oy  in  liie  Holy 
lone  in  the  face 
Grrace  recc^ized 
perienoe  it. 
hat  familiar,  old 

bund, 
ound." 

iting  to  a  familiar 
the  singing,  and 
ly  voices,  rolled 
ng  inspiration  to 

\aa  out  of  tune ; 
her  voice  blended 
}he  wished  it  was' 
'  thoughts  on  the 
iided,  she  realized 
I  spite  of  her  best 
iway.  Slie  hoped 
m,  and  felt  disap- 
icements  brought 


ORA.CE  UAYNABD's  RESOLVE. 

to  her  remembrance  that  it  was  missionary  Sunday. 
That  meant  a  missionary  sermon,  and  what  help 
could  there  be  for  her  in  such  a  discourse. 

But  Grace  soon  became  interested.  The  text  was 
a  familiar  one.  "  Ye  know  the  grace  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  that,  though  he  was  rich,  yet  for  your 
sakes  he  became  poor,  that  ye  through  his  poverty 
might  be  rich."  Earnestly  and  solemnly  Mr.  Clifford 
unfolded  the  text  to  his  hearera.  There  were  many 
thoughtful  listeners  that  morning,  but  none  more  so 
than  Qraoe  Maynard.  The  words  sank  deep  into  her 
heart,  and  awoke  anxious  questionings  there.  The 
Lord  of  glory  had  become  poor  that  be  might  make 
her  rich ;  that  he  might  bring  precious  gifls  to  her, 
and  had  she  ever  denied  herself  anytliing  that  slie 
might  send  the  good  news  to  othera. 

Her  heart  made  answer,  "  No."  What  a  selfish 
life  hera  had  been !  And  yet  she  called  herself  a 
Christian ;  yes,  and  really  wanted  to  be  one  too,  only 
she  had  not  realized  all  it  meant  to  be  a  follower  of 
Christ.  Now,  in  this  hour,  there  were  awakened 
within  her  longings  after  a  better  and  higher  life  than 
she  had  hitherto  lived,  and  a  holy  purpose  was  formed 
in  her  heart  to  live  unto  him  who  had  done  so  much 
for  her ;  a  purpose,  that  by  his  grace  was  to  grow 
stronger  and  stronger,  until  it  became  the  ruling  aim 
of  her  life. 

There  was  one  expression  that  followed  Grace ;  it 
was  this:  "  In  the  light  of  eternity,  will  you  r^ret 


1^ 
I 


{ 

i 


i/ 


;.  ~'  J'lf?q^kiM^SMiBli»M>:^f^sSkSm 


88 


TIIRRE  GIRLS. 


having  made  some  aaorifioe  for  Christ's  sake?  Ah, 
my  friend,  whatever  else  you  regret,  you  will  not 
regret  that"  And  Grace  kept  repeating  those  words 
over  and  over  to  herself:  "  Whatever  else  you  may 
regret,  you  will  not  regret  that." 


i  <, 


»S^iiL--pj,.i'*!i:-<rw**»«*'^~.  - 


t's  Bake?  Ah, 
you  will  not 
ing  those  words 
ir  else  you  may 


hZVr  THOUGHTS  AWAKENED. 

^(  T  DO  wish/'  said  Mrs.  Maynard;  as  they  gathered 

-L  at  the  dinner  tuble,  after  church, "  that  Mr.  Clif- 
ford would  not  talk  so  much  about  giving.  Wt  are  con- 
tinually being  asked  to  give  a  little  more  to  this  and 
that  and  the  other  thing.  For  my  part,  I  get  tired 
of  hearing  about  it ;  particularly  as  we  give  all  we 
can,  and  I  dare  say  others  do  the  same." 

Mr.  Maynard's  face  grew  thoughtful.  He  made  no 
answer  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  said,  "It  seems  as 
though  we  ought  to  give  more,  though  I  do  not  see 
how  we  can.  There  were  father  and  mother,  not  well 
off,  at  kast  we  would  not  think  so,  and  with  ten 
children  to  clothe  and  feed ;  yet  they  gave  as  much  to 
missions  as  I  do,  and  I  have  only  three  children  and 
a  much  larger  income." 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  his  wife,  "  and  no  wonder ; 
living  was  not  nearly  so  expensive  then  as  now,  and 
as  their  home  was  in  the  country^  no  doubt  they  did 
not  have  to  live  in  the  same  style  that  we  do." 

"  Indeed,  they  did  not,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  smiling 
as  he  mentally  contrasted  his  present  elegant  home 
with  the  plain  old-fiishioned  home  of  his  childhood. 
"  I  am  sure  we  had  as  much  happiness  though." 

89 


^, 


i"  »«►»-'  uMIB  ^ 


|y 


.1 


t, !, 


i' 


40 


THBEE  GIRLS. 


"  No  one  said  you  did  not,"  returned  his  wife.  "All 
I  say  is  that  the  case  with  us  is  so  different.  We  are 
obliged  to  live  in  more  style ;  therefore  we  are  obliged 
to  spend  more  money,  and  consequently  we  cannot 
^ve  away  any  more  than  they  did,  if  we  are  richer." 

Mrs.  Maynard  put  quite  a  marked  emphasis  upon 
the  word  obliged.  Mr.  Maynard  noticed  it,  and  said, 
"  I  do  not  know  thai  we  are  obliged  to  live  as  we  do." 

"  Why,  yes,  we  are,  James.  How  could  we  move 
in  society,  if  we  did  not? " 

This  was  always  Mrs.  Maynard's  final  argument, 
and  one  that  had  always  been  accepted  as  conclusive  by 
her  husband  and  children ;  for  could  anything  more 
dreadful  be  imagined  than  to  be  left  out  of  society, 
whatever  that  might  mean.  No ;  cost  what  it  would, 
they  must  be  found  in  the  fashionable  circle  of  Melvin. 

Grace  listened  to  the  conversation  with  keen  in- 
terest. 

"How  quiet  you  are,  Grace,"  said  her  father. 
"What  is  the  matter?" 

"  I  was  thinking,  papa." 

"Really  now,  Grace,"  put  in  her  brother  Ned, 
saucily,  "  do  you  ever  think  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  do,  Ned ;  only  sometimes.  I  think 
jtist  now  it  is  time  to  go  to  Sunday-school,  and  I  must 
ask  to  be  excused.  Come,  Ned,"  ^e  added,  as  she  left 
the  room,  "  you  had  better  get  ready ;  we  can  go  to- 
gether." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  go,"  he  returned. 


his  wife.  ''AU 
rent.    We  are 

we  are  obliged 
itly  we  cannot 
ve  are  richer." 
emphasis  upon 
ed  it,  and  said, 
live  as  we  do." 
ould  we  move 

inal  argument, 
a  conclusive  bj 
iny thing  more 
)ut  of  society, 
what  it  would, 
rcle  of  Melvin. 
with  keen  in- 

Id  her   father. 


brother  Ned, 

mes.  I  think 
)ol,  and  I  must 
ded,  as  she  left 
we  can  go  to- 


etamed. 


"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  stay  home,"  said 
Grace. 

Ned  made  no  answer.  However,  when  she  appeared 
at  the  door  a  few  minutes  later,  he  joined  her. 

"  It  is  altogther  too  fine  a  day  to  be  cooped  up  i.ii 
Sunday-school,"  he  said,  as  they  left  the  house. 

"  And  soon  it  will  be  too  hot  to  go  out,"  said  his 
sister, "  and  in  winter,  too  stormy ;  and  at  other  times, 
too  rainy.  What  is  the  matter  with  you  lately,  Ned  ? 
You  always  have  some  excuse  for  not  wishing  to  go 
to  Sunday-school.  I  suppose  the  real  reason  is,  you 
don't  want  to  go." 

**  I  do  not  It  does  well  enough  for  the  little  boys, 
but  none  of  the  fellows  go." 

"  Some  of  them  do,"  said  his  sister. 

"  Oh,  yes,  some  of  them  go,  I  know,"  returned  Ned ; 
and  there  was  that  in  his  tone  which  said  very  plainly 
that  he  did  not  care  to  belong  to  that  set. 

Just  then  a  carriage  whirled  by,  and  Neil  exclaimed 
"  There  go  Larkins  and  Slason.  My  I  how  that  hone 
does  go  I  They're  off  up  the  road.  It  will  be  just 
splendid  to-day."  And  the  youth  looked  after  them 
lon^ngly. 

A  strange  fear  and  anxiety  was  awakened  in  Grace's 
heart,  as  he  spoke.  .  She  had  heard  that  young  men 
often  came  down  the  road  in  the  evening  very  much 
the  worse  on  account  of  liquor ;  what  if  her  brother 
should  ever  learn  to  spend  his  Sundays  so  I 

They  had  reached  the  school-room  door  by  this 


'.! 


■«(«w«w«i»I»SIW«raWi«.mBI3K 


5.  i 


I*'  : 


42 


TUBEB  UIRI^. 


time.  "Aren't  70U  ooming  in  now,  Ned,"  mid 
Grace. 

"Time  enough,  I  guew.  There's  Al  Smythe.  I  want 
to  speak  to  him  a  minute." 

Grace  looked  at\er  him  with  misgiving.  She  did 
not  like  Al  Smythe  at  all.  He  was  some  two  or  three 
years  Ned's  senior,  and  aspired  to  be  thought  a  young 
man.  There  would  have  been  no  harm  in  that,  but  unfor- 
tunately it  meant  with  him  taking  on  the  vices  of  man- 
hood, not  its  virtues.  Grace,  who  knew  his  influence 
was  for  evil  on  her  brother,  took  her  seat  in  her  class 
with  a  troubled  heart.  The  last  year  or  two  Ned's 
life  had  been  growing  uway  from  hers.  Sometimes 
she  had  looked  upon  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  boys 
were  so  unlike  girls.  But  at  other  times,  when  she 
saw  Hal  Gladwyn  going  about  with  his  sisters  Ethel  and 
Millie,  and  becoming  every  day  more  fitted  to  move 
in  the  circle  in  which  they  did,  she  wondered  why  it 
was  different  with  her  brother,  and  thought  there  DiUst 
be  something  wrong  somewhere. 

This  afternoon  she  looked  anxiously  for  Ned,  but 
in  vain  ;  he  did  not  come.  She  had  no  more  time  for 
thought,  however,  as  her  group  of  girls  gathered  about 
her  ready  to  begin  the  lesson.  Never  before  had 
Grace  felt  so  unfit  for  her  duty.  To  be  sure,  she  had 
prepared  the  lesson  in  a  manner  which  generally  would 
have  satisfied  her ;  that  is,  she  had  read  over  the  lesson 
and  the  lesson  helps,  and  in  anticipation  of  a  busy  week 
had  done  this  the  previous  Sunday,  after  her  return 


Ned,"  Mid 


mytbe.  I  want 

ing.  She  did 
ne  two  or  three 
ought  a  young 
that,  but  unfor- 
e  vices  of  man- 
V  his  influence 
at  in  her  class 
or  two  Ned's 
n.  Sometimes 
f  course,  boys 
mes,  when  she 
isters  Ethel  and 
fitted  to  move 
>ndered  why  it 
gilt  there  must 

r  for  Ned,  but 
t  more  time  for 
gathered  about 
sr  before  had 
)  sure,  she  had 
enerally  would 
over  the  lesson 
of  a  busy  week 
ter  her  return 


from  Sunday-school.    But  th 

not  enter  and  affect  her  heart,  so  full  of  other  things ; 
so  now  she  bad  no  experience  to  bring  to  her  class,  and 
she  fult  that  her  teaching  was  lifele^^s  and  formal.  She 
was  glad  when  school  was  over  and  she  could  join 
Ethel,  for  she  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  her. 

"Come  Ethel,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you  to  come  home 
with  me.  I  will  not  keep  you  long,"  slie  added,  as 
Ethel  hesitated.  "  I  know  Bessie  and  Georgie  mo- 
nopolise you  on  Sunday  aflernoons,  but  Millie  can 
re&d  and  sing  to  them  just  as  well  as  you  can,  and  it 
will  do  her  good  to  take  charge  of  them  on<«  in  a 
while.  I  want  jMrticularly  to  have  one  of  our  talks 
together." 

Thus  urged,  Ethel  yielded.  It  was  but  a  few  steps 
to  Grace's  home.  The  girls  found  a  pleasant,  shaiiy 
seat  in  the  ga.ileu.    Then  Grace  began  by  saying  : 

"  Do  you  know,  Ethel,  I  was  almost  afraid  this 
morning  that  I  was  not  a  Christian  when  I  thought 
how  I  have  lived  from  day  to  day  all  for  myself,  and 
not  remembering  how  much  I  owe  to  Jesus  ?  Yet  I 
do  love  him,  Ethel,  I  really  do ;  only  I  never  realized 
before  how  far  off  I  have  followed  him.  I  wished  so 
much  while  listening  to  the  sermon  that  I  could  do 
something  more,  or.  give  something  more,  but  I  do 
not  know  how  to  do  it.  You  know,  Ethel,  if  I  were 
to  deny  myself  ever  so  much,  it  would  make  no  differ- 
ence. I  would  not  have  any  more  to  give  away,  for 
I  have  no  stated  allowance  as  you  have.    To  be  sure, 


J 


f,l 


tli 


1 1 


44 


THRKB  UIRIA 


I  can  have  money  whenever  I  want  it  by  asking  for 
it,  yet  it  Bcarct-ly  eecms  lilce  giving  of  my  own." 

"  Perhaps  your  father  would  give  you  an  allowance 
if  you  should  aak  him." 

"  I  did  say  something  about  it  once,  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  care  to  do  it.  I  suppose  he  thought  I  was  too 
extravagant  to  he  trusted." 

"  Bui  you  could  agree  to  buy  certain  articles  of 
dress  with  it — that  is  the  way  I  do,  and  I  think  it 
teaches  one  to  be  careful,  and  so  spend  money  to  ad- 
vantage." 

"  Well,  I  might  try  again,  sometime ;  but  that  does 
not  help  me  at  present." 

Grace  sighed,  and  her  usually  merry  face  looked 
troubled.     Presently,  she  said,  abruptly  : 

"  I  do  not  know  what  is  the  good  of  being  tM  to 
do  things  when  we  cannot  do  them." 

There  was  a  touch  of  impatience  in  her  voice  as  she 
spoke. 

"  There  is  one  thing  we  can  do,"  said  Ethel,  quietly  j 
"  we  can  ask  God  to  make  it  plain  to  us ;  how  we 
can  do  the  good  things  we  desire  to  do,  yet  find  no 
means  of  doing.     He  will  surely  show  us  the  right 


» 


way 

The  words  fell  with  a  calming  influence  on  Grace's 
restless  heart, 

"  Yes,  Ethel,  we  can  do  that, '  she  said  ;  then  ad- 
ded, "  There  is  so  much  that  puzzles  me ;  I  b^in  to 
wonder  whether  many  things  I  do  am  just  right— 


1  by  asking  for 

iiy  own. 

u  an  allowance 

but  he  did  not 
light  I  wan  too 

ain  artiolefl  of 

ind  I  think  it 

money  to  ad- 

;  but  that  does 

y  face  looked 

being  tjld  to 

er  voice  as  she 

Ethel,  quietly ; 

)  us ;  how  we 

>,  yet  find  no 

us  the  right 

oe  on  Grace's 

aid ;  then  ad- 

e ;  I  begin  to 

just  right — 


for  a  Christian  to  do,  1  mnn.  J  am  sore  that  I  am 
Dot  one  of  those  oonseorated,  walous  Christians,  of 
whom  we  sometimes  read.  I  do  not  know  whether 
it  i<*  possible  to  be  one  in  the  ordinary  circumstanoei 
of  life.     What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  The  grace  of  Qod  can  make  it  poc-ible  for  you 
and  me  as  well  as  for  any  one  else  ;  perhaps  we  are 
afraid  to  ask  for  it.  I  think  my  text :  <  Seek  first 
the  kingdom  of  God,'  will  help  us.  If  we  were  to 
ask  with  regard  to  every  course  of  action  :  *  Will  this 
advance  or  binder  that  kingdom  ? '  Surely,  it  would 
not  be  very  hard  to  decide  what  it  would  be  right 
to  do.'» 

"  Perhnps  not.  It  might  be  hard  to  do  (he  right 
thing  when  one  had  found  out." 

"  But  we  can  liave  ivine  help  in  our  difficulties  if 
we  only  ask  it,"  suggested  Ethel. 

"  I  know  that ;  but,  Ethel,  I  am  afraid  I  am  not 
willing  to  do  whatsoever  he  saith."  The  words  came 
slowly  and  with  effort.  "  It  is  dreadful  to  think  that, 
isn't  it ;  yet  what  can  I  do?  " 

"I  would  tell  Jesus  all  about  it,"  said  Ethel, 
gently. 

"  What  I    That  I  am  not  willing?  " 

"  Yes,  for  he  is  your  best  friend.  Why  should  you 
keep  anything  back  from  him?    He  will  help  you." 

"But  do  you  think  he  will  indeed  make  the  way 
plain,  and  show  me  what  to  do  ?  " 

"  Surely  he  will,"  said  Ethel,  her  own  fiiith  grow- 


I. 


«iti-*^ 


sr 


I 


'?  I      si 


;  I; 


46 


THREE  OIRLS. 


ing  stronger,  even  while  Bhe  spoke.  "  Has  he  not  said : 
'if  any  of  you  lack  wisdom,  let  him  ask  of  God, 
.  .  .  and  it  shall  be  given  him ; '  has  he  not  prom- 
ised to  make  crooked  things  straight,  and  darkness 
light  before  us?" 

There  was  a  triumphant  ring  in  Ethel's  voice  that 
made  Grace  feel  that  she  was  speaking  from  her  own 
experience. 

"I  have  been  thinking  to-day,"  Grace  said,  "of 
ever  so  many  things  that  I  could  not  make  f'ifferent, 
crooked  things  that  I  could  not  straighten ;  now  I  will 
bring  them  all  to  our  Father  in  heaven,  and  I  will 
not  be  discouraged  any  more." 

"  That  is  right,  dear.  Do  not  grow  discouraged  ; 
you  ought  not,  when  you  have  such  promises.  None 
of  us  should,"  said  Ethol,  as  she  rose  to  go. 

Before  they  parted  ut  the  gate,  Ethel  said  : 

"  Do  you  intend  to  go  to  Bay  View  ?  " 

"No;  I  have  given  that  up,"  replied  Grace, 
quietly. 

That  last  remark,  or  something  connected  with  it, 
kept  Grace  thinking  for  quite  a  while  after  saying 
good-bye;  then  suddenly  her  face  grew  bright,  and 
she  turned  back  to  the  house  with  quick  steps.  Evi- 
dently some  light  had  dawned  on  her  way.  As  she 
'^as  about  to  go  into  the  house,  her  father,  who  was 
sitting  on  the  piazza,  spoke  to  her : 

"  I  am  afraid  I  disappointed  you  last  night,  little 
girl,  about  that  pet  plan  of  yours.    Mother  and  I  have 


NEW  THOUGHTS   AWAKENED. 


las  he  not  said : 
Q  ask  of  God, 
}  he  not  prom- 
i,  and  darkness 

hel's  voice  that 
;  from  her  own 

race  said,  "of 
make  <^ifferent, 
ten ;  now  I  will 
ven,  and  I  will 

w  discouraged ; 
'omises.    None 

go. 
1  said : 

replied    Grae^, 

nected  with  it, 
le  after  saying 
3w  bright,  and 
!k  steps.  Evi- 
r  Avay.  As  she 
ither,  who  was 

»st  night,  little 
ther  and  I  have 


been  talking  it  over,  and  I  have  no  doubt  we  can  ar- 
range it ;  so  you  can  call  that  settled." 

"  Father,  I  have  given  it  up,"  said  Grace,  decidedly. 
"  I  don't  mind  one  bit,  and  you  must  not  think  I 
do.  Wg  will  all  go  away  somewhere  in  the  country 
together,  and  have  a  good  time.  Now,  don't  say  an- 
other word  ;  there's  a  dear,  good  father.  You  know 
when  I  make  up  my  mind,  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  get 
me  to  alter  it,  and  you  had  better  not  try." 

"  What  made  you  change  your  mind  about  wanting 
to  go  then  ?  "  said  her  father. 

"  Oh,  one  thing  and  another ;  partly  that  sermon 
this  morning.  I  felt  while  listening  to  it  that  I  did 
so  want  to  give  something  to  missions ;  and  I  have 
been  thinking  that,  since  I  am  not  going  to  Bay  View, 
perhaps  you  would  give  me  a  little  of  the  money  the 
trip  would  have  cost,  and  I  could  give  that."  She  had 
drawn  a  low  chair  near  her  father,  and  was  looking 
up  into  his  face  with  her  earnest,  brown  eyes.  She  had 
seldom  looked  more  lovely  to  him.  A  pleased  expre^ 
sion  cime  over  his  face. 

"  You  are  sure  you  would  rather  do  that  ?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

"  Yes,  perfectly  sure,"  she  replied. 

He  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and  turned  over  the 
bills,  "  How  will  that  do?  "  he  asked,  as  he  dropped 
one  in  her  lap.    It  was  a  twenty-dollar  bill. 

"  Oh,  you  dear  papa,"  and  Grace  jumped  up,  and 
put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 


w 


.  ;l 


I 


J 


48 


THREE  GIRLS. 


■lii 


"  There,  child,  it  is  nothing  to  make  a  fuss  about.  I 
declare  you  look  more  and  more  Hke  my  mother  every 
day.  You  would  look  more  like  her  if  you  wore  your 
hair  so" — and  he  parted  and  tried  to  smooth  down 
the  fluffy  bangs  as  he  spoke.  "  I  believe  you  are  going 
to  resemble  her  in  character  too.  Well,  you  could  not 
be  like  a  better  woman." 

"  How  I  wish  she  had  lived,  so  that  I  could  have 
seen  and  known  b^^r." 

"I  have  often  wished  that  che  had  been  spared 
to  enjoy  a  happy  old  age,  unu  see  her  grand-chil- 
dren grow  up  around  her;  he.  \,  was  not  to  be,  and 
doubUesH,  it  was  well.  She  hati  always  washed  to  live 
until  we  were  all  grown  up,  and  able  to  do  for  our- 
selves ;  and  this  desire  was  gran;:ed.  The  sermon  this 
morning  made  me  think  of  her  very  much.  Her  life 
was  patterned  after  those  teachings  more  than  mine 
has  been, daughter — I  usedtothinkhertoo unworldly; 
I  see  now  sh  >  diose  the  better  part,"  and  Mr.  May- 
nard  gazed  mnsingly  out  on  the  fiur  scene  before 
him. 

Grace's  thought  was — "  How  T  wish  I  might  be  like 
her."  Just  then  she  caught  sight  of  Ned  coming,  and 
went  to  meet  him. 

"  You  didn't  come  to  Sunday-school  after  all,  Ned," 
were  her  first,  half-reproachful  words. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  see,  when  I  got  through  talking  to 
Al,  I  found  school  had  begun,  and  I  hate  to  go  in  late; 
so  I  took  a  walk,  but  I  will  go  next  Sunday,  sure. 


I  fuss  about.  I 
ly  mother  every 
■  you  wore  yonr 
)  smooth  down 
e  you  are  going 
,  you  oould  not 

;  I  oould  have 

id  been  spared 
lei*  grand-chil- 
not  to  be,  and 
s  w'flhed  to  live 
to  do  for  our- 
rhe  sermon  this 
inch.  Her  life 
ore  than  mine 
too  nnworldlv ; 
and  Mr.  May- 
r  scene  before 

[  might  be  like 
ed  coming,  and 

after  all,  Ned," 

ugh  talking  to 

itetogoin  late; 

Sunday,  sure. 


KEW  THOnOHTB  AWAKENED. 


49 


I'm  going  to  church  to-night,  you  know,  and  Til  sit 
downstairs  with  you,  if  you  don*t  scold  me." 

This  was  quite  a  concession,  for  Ned  had  formed  the 
habit  of  sitting  in  the  gallery  with  some  of  his  chums, 
a  habit  not  very  conducive  to  devotion.  It  was  no 
wonder,  therefore,  that  Grace  was  well  pleased,  while 
Ned's  gracious  manner  (juite  lulled  her  anxious  fean 
to  rest. 

Very  happy  she  was  that  evening,  as  she  laid  her 
offering  on  the  collection-plate.  Very  happy  too,  as 
she  came  to  the  table  of  the  Lord,  for  had  she  not 
drawn  nearer  to  her  Lord,  and  entered  into  fuller 
sympathy  with  him  in  his  work  in  the  world?  Ye^ 
and  though  she  knew  it  not,  she  had  taken  a  step  up- 
ward out  of  her  life  of  selfishness  toward  a  life  of 
devotion,  to  Christ. 


»  -ij 


It 


"Mm. 


CHAPTER  V. 


A  LITTLE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 

ETHEL  stood  at  the  door  of  the  parlor  taking  a 
critical  survey  of  everything.  It  had  just  been 
cleaned,  the  last  room  in  the  house  to  be  put  in  order. 
Ethel  had  been  helping  her  mother  to  put  things  in 
place  again ;  after  that  was  done,  she  still  busied  her- 
self with  the  finishing  touches,  without  which  she  de- 
clared, the  room  never  looked  like  anything.  They 
were  only  little  things— knotting  a  fresh  ribbon  in  the 
scarf  on  the  easy-chair ;  training  an  ivy  around  a 
bracket ;  setting  a  vase  of  flowers  here  and  a  picture 
there,  just  where  they  would  show  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. But  Ethel  knew  that  just  such  little  things 
give  character  to  a  room. 

At  length  all  was  dop"  to  her  satisfaction  ;  yet  as 
she  stood  to  take  one  last  view,  before  going  to  other 
work,  there  came  to  her  mind  a  thought  of  the  May- 
nards'  elegant  parlor,  furnished  in  the  latest  style,  and 
adorned  with  handsome  fancy  work,  and  a  teeling  of 
discontent  came  over  her.  So  when  her  mother,  who 
was  going  out,  paused  for  a  moment  to  look  in,  and 
said,  "  Well,  Ethel,  you  have  made  the  room  look  very 
pretty,"  Ethel  answered : 

"  It  might  look  pretty  if  only  we  had  something 
GO 


■MM 


[)D. 

parlor  taking  a 
It  had  just  been 
be  put  in  order. 
>  put  things  in 
still  busied  her- 
it  which  she  de- 
mything.    They 
sAi  ribbon  in  the 
1  ivy  around  a 
re  and  a  picture 
the  best  advan- 
ach  little  things 

sfaction  ;  yet  as 
J  going  to  other 
jhtof  theMny- 
» latest  style,  and 
ind  a  teeling  of 
ler  mother,  who 
to  look  in,  and 
e  room  look  very 

i  had  something 


A  UTTLE  KHfOOOM  07  OOD. 


Al 


new  in  it.  We  have  not  had  one  new  thing  for  this 
room  this  spring.  I  do  get  so  tired  of  arrangiiig  the 
same  old  things  over  and  over  again  every  year." 

"  They  are  not  at  all  worn,"  said  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  do  not  mean  old  in  that  sense,  but  old- 
fiisbioned." 

"  The  room  always  looks  well  to  me.  Perhaps  I  do 
not  care  about  new  things  so  mv^  as  you  do,"  said 
Mrs.  Glad wyn, thoughtfully.  "And  then, you  know, 
Ethel,  we  cannot  afford  to  keep  pace  with  the  chang- 
ing fashions,  just  now  particularly,  when  the  expenses 
of  our  growing  family  are  heavy." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Ethel,  with  a  half-suppressed 
aigh. 

'  You  see  what  a  misfortune  it  is  to  be  one  of  a  large 
family,"  said  her  mother,  merrily. 

"  No,  mother,  dear,  we  have  ever  so  much  better 
times,  because  there  are  so  many  of  us.  After  all, 
the  room  looks  well  enough,  and  we  can  enjoy  onr- 
selves  just  as  well  in  it,  perhaps  better,  than  if  it  was 
handsomer."  And  Ethel  turned  away  quite  in  good 
humor  i^in. 

It  was  not  long  after  when  little  Bessie  came  up- 
stairs to  say  that  Aunt  Annie  had  come.  Aunt  Annie 
lived  in  Milton,  a  few  miles  distant  from  Melvin.  bhe 
had  a  young  family,  and  plenty  of  care,  and  so  did  not 
often  find  an  opportunity  to  come  and  see  them  ;  but 
she  was  one  of  those  dbeery  people  whom  it  is  always  a 
pleasure  to  see.    She  was  a  very  welcome  visitor  at  the 


,'i 


'i^: 


'i!  '■: 


p  fcr"*""^  '^   ii^ 


62 


THKEB  GIBLB. 


Gladwyns'.    Ethel  ran  down  to  meet  her,  and  greeted 
her  rapturously. 

"I  will  come  wherever  you  are,  Ethel,"  said  her 
aunt.  "  I  was  so  tired  that  I  just  sank  down  in  this 
rocking-chair  to  rest.  How  delightful  your  parlor 
looks !  I  enjoy  this  room  so  much  whenever  I  come 
here.     It  is  so  restful." 

"I  am  glad  you  find  it  so,  auntie,"  said  Ethel. 
"  I  was  just  saying  to  mother  this  morning  that  I 
wished  we  had  something  new  in  it  It  is  so  old- 
fashioned." 

''It  is  all  in  keeping,  though,"  said  Mrs.  Lee. 
"  Nothing  can  make  up  for  want  of  harmony  in  a  room. 
When  I  was  younger,  I  used  to  feel  very  much  as  you 
do,  Ethel.  One  day  I  read  something  that  hel{)ed  me. 
It  was  this,  that  it  was  not  such  a  matter  of  importance 
to  have  our  house  furnished  in  the  style  of  any  one 
period,  as  it  was  to  make  the  home  a  little  kingdom 
of  God." 

"  Isn't  that  a  beautiful  idea,"  said  Ethel. 

"  Yes,  I  thought  it  so.  It  seems  to  me  that  that  is 
what  we,  a.^  Christians,  should  above  all  other  things 
desire ;  only  you  must  remember,  dear,  that  our  Lord 
says  in  one  place, '  my  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world.' 
So  we  must  be  prepared,  oftentimes,  to  give  up  the 
seen  for  the  unseen.  Yet  it  is  not  very  hard  to  do 
this  when  we  think  how  much  he  gave  up  to  make 
us  inheritors  of  his  kingdom,  is  it?  " 

Ethel  only  pressed  Aunt  Annie's  hand  for  answer. 


MMMM 


ler,  and  greeted 

the]"  aaid  her 
k  dovirn  in  this 
ful  jour  parlor 
lienever  I  come 

e."  said  Ethel, 
noming  that  I 
It  is  so  old- 

iaid  Mrs.  Lee. 
monyina  room. 
ery  much  as  you 

thutheli)edme. 
er  of  importance 
tyle  of  any  one 

little  kingdom 

Sthel. 

>  me  that  that  is 
all  other  things 
r,  that  our  Lord 
b  of  this  world.* 
to  give  up  the 
rery  hard  to  do 
ve  up  to  make 

und  for  answer. 


LITTLK  KINGDOM  OF  OOD.  53 

Too  many  thoughts  had  been  awakened  in  her  mind 
for  words,  jubt  then. 

Mrs.  Lee  could  not  stay  more  than  two  hours,  m 
when  Mrs.  Gladwyn  came  in  a  few  minutes  later, 
Ethel  went  downstairs  to  set  out  a  luncheon,  taking 
Bessie  along  to  help  her,  leaving  the  two  mothers  to 
have  a  pleasant  chat  by  themselves.  When  all  was 
ready,  she  called  them  down  to  a  most  delicious  little 
lunch.  And  then  there  was  so  much  to  talk  about,  and  so 
many  questions  to  ask,  that  before  they  knew  it  the 
two  hours  had  passed  away.  Before  Mrs.  Lee  left, 
however,  she  uiged  them  all  to  come  and  see  her. 

"  It  is  lovely  weather  now,  and  everything  looVs 
beautiful,"  she  said.  "  You  really  ought  to  come  and 
spend  a  day  at  Milton." 

"  Let  us  make  up  a  picnic,"  said  Eth'J. 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  picnic,"  cried  Millie,  enthusiastically ; 
"  when  can  we  go?  " 

"  We  will  leave  it  to  mother  and  auntie  to  decide 
that,"  said  Ethel. 

"  It  will  be  convenient  any  time  for  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Lee. 

"  Some  day  next  week,  then,"  Huggested  Mrs.  Glad- 
wyn. "Say  Wednesday— that  is  a  good  day;  the 
washing  and  ironing  will  be  out  of  the  way." 

"Wednesday,  then,  if  it  is  fine,"  said  Aunt 
Annie. 

"And  if  not  fine?"  put  in  Millie. 

"  If  not  fine,  then  Thursday  or  Friday,"  said  her 


1 


aunt;  so  »t  was  arranged,  and  amid  a  chorus  of  good- 
byes, Aunt  Annie  left. 

Did  ehe  know  that  the  helpful  words  she  had 
spoken  to  Ethel  that  morning  were  as  good  seed, 
which  would  spring  up  and  bring  fortli  fruit  in  after 
days.  Periiaps  not;  she  had  only  passed  along  a 
thought  that  had  helped  her.  She  always  tried  to 
do  that ;  if  she  ever  hud  any  other  kind  of  thoughts, 
<>he  kept  them  to  herself. 

Ethei,  on  her  part,  always  wanted  to  share  every- 
thing good  with  Grace ;  so  that  evening,  when  they 
met,  she  told  her  what  Aunt  Annie  had  said,  adding: 
"  Is  it  not  strange  that  it  should  have  been  just  in 
line  with  our  verse  ?  " 

Grace  caught  at  the  idea;  it  seemed  something  she 
couhl  get  hold  of,  and  work  out  every  day.  She 
pondei-ed  it  over  after  she  went  home,  as  she  was 
busy  over  her  fancy  work ;  not  without  some  troubled 
feelings,  for  she  kept  questioning  whether  tiielr  home 
would  answer  to  that  description,  whetlier  the  chief 
aim  was  to  make  it  "a  little  kingdom  of  God."  It 
was  her  own  dear  home — a  happy  home — but,  some- 
how or  other,  their  family  life  was  not  just  like  the 
Gladwyns'.  Yet  Grace's  parents  wei«  Christians,  and 
members  of  the  church ;  what  made  the  difference 
between  the  two  homes?  Was  it  not,  that  in  the 
Gladwyn  home  the  cliief  aim  was  to  do  the  will  of 
Christ  in  all  things?  Grace  did  not,  as  yet,  fully 
realize  it;  only  she  had  a  feeling  that  there  was 


horua  of  good- 

rords  she  had 
as  good  seed, 
li  fruit  in  after 
assed  along  a 
Iways  tried  to 
d  of  thoughts, 

0  share  every- 
ig,  when  they 

1  said,  adding : 
'6  been  just  in 

something  she 
5ry  day.  She 
le,  as  she  was 
some  troubled 
ier  tiieir  home 
titer  the  chief 
of  God."  It 
le — but,  some- 
just  like  the 
christians,  and 
the  difference 
t,  that  in  the 
lo  the  will  of 
as  yet,  fully 
lat  there  was 


LITTLE   KINGDOM   OF  OOD. 


U 


something  more  unworldly  about  her  friend's  home 
than  about  her  own. 

Mrs.  Maynard,  had  she  been  asked,  would  have 
said,  that  certainly  religion  was  the  most  important 
thing,  and  that  she  wished  her  children  to  be  Chris- 
tians ;  and  that  to  '  seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God ' 
was  tlie  riglit  thmg  to  do.  But  iu  reality,  she  was 
more  ooncerned  to  occupy  a  prominent  place  in  so- 
ciety, and  to  have  her  children  get  on  in  the  world. 
That  had  been,  and  still  was,  the  chief  aim  of  her 
life;  though,  periiaps,  she  would  not  have  acknowl- 
edged it — indeed,  she  scarcely  realized  that  it  was  so. 

There  had  never  been  a  time  in  the  history  of 
the  Maynard  family  when  they  could  not  live  in 
comfort;  but  Mrs.  Maynard  aimed  at  style.  Her 
home  must  be  elegantly  furnished,  her  children  hand- 
somely dressed,  and  all  the  demands  of  society  must 
be  rigorously  met.  It  required  no  little  contrivance 
to  do  all  this  in  their  earlier  years  of  married  life, 
when  Mr.  Maynard's  income  was  not  so  large  as  it 
afterward  became.  But  Mrs.  Maynard  was  very 
capable.  Her  busy  fingers  fashioned  dainty  and 
elaborate  garments  for  her  little  daughter,  filled  her 
rooms  with  choice  fancy  work,  and  made  up  for  the  de- 
ficiencies of  the  housemaid,  oft«n  young  and  inexperi- 
enced ;  meanwhile,  the  inner  life  of  herself  and  chil- 
dren, so  much  more  important  than  the  outer  life, 
was  well-nigh  forgotten.  How  often  the  busy  mother 
told  Ned  to  run  away,  and  not  bother  her !  how  well 


t 


TUBKE  OlRlJB. 

pleased  she  was  to  have  him  oat  of  the  way,  taking  it 
for  graQf«d  that  h'm  ouaipaniona  were  all  right  I  So 
it  oame  about  thut  now  Ned  gave  hia  parents  much 
anxiety  in  many  wuys. 

These  earlier  yt^TK  of  care  and  worry,  and  of  bear- 
ing Bi'lf-imposcd  burdens,  had  worn  down  Mrs  May- 
nard's  health;  and  now  she  was  a  frequent  sufferer 
frcm  nervous  headaohes.  Often  lilie  would  say,  "  I 
do  aot  see  how  Mrs.  Glatlwyn  keeps  her  health  with 
Buch  a  family  ns  she  has.  My  three  have  worn  me 
down.  Perhaps  she  raay  be  otrmger  than  I;  though, 
for  that  matter,  there  never  was  a  healtliier  girl  Uuin 
I  was." 

Mr.  Maynard  lii»d  prospered  in  business,  but  his 
family  being  an  ezpenftive  "ue,  the  demands  made 
upon  him  were  heavy,  and  ho  worked  early  and  late 
to  meet  t\  m;  so  he  sa-.ir  but  litUe  of  his  family.    To 
-<j  two  f^aughters  he  was  very  indulgent;  with  his 
son  he  was  inclined  to  be  severe.     He  had  resolved 
that  his  son  should  go  to  college,  and  have  the  advan- 
tage of  a  higher  education;  an  advantage  which  he 
had  not  himself  -injoyed.     Yet  Ned  showed  but  little 
inclination  for  stuuy,  and  his  carelessness  at  school 
was  a  constant  disappointment  to  his  parents.    A 
few  kmd  words  might  have  helpnd  matters,  and  led 
to  mutuftl  understanding;   but  instead  of  this,  Mr. 
Maynard  showed  his  disappointment  and  vexation 
by  hasty  and  harsh  reproofs,  which  only  tended  to 
separate  father  and  son  more  widely. 


T 


wiMfiai  > 


ttimamtmmmt 


b 


e  way,  taking  it 
)  all  right  I  So 
a  parents  much 

ry,  end  of  bear- 
awn  Mrs  May- 
requeot  vufierer 
would  say,  "  I 
ber  health  with 
have  worn  me 
han  I; though, 
Itliier  girl  than 

isiness,  but  his 
demands  made 

early  and  late 
lis  family.  To 
gent;  with  his 
I  had  resolved 
ave  theadvan- 
itage  which  he 
owed  but  little 
ness  at  suhool 
s  parents.  A 
atters,  and  led 
I  of  this,  Mr. 

and  vexation 
uly  tended  to 


A  LITTLE  KIKODOM  Of  OOD. 


67 


Grace  was  just  becoming  old  enough  to  feel  these 
things,  and  to  sliaie  in  her  parents'  anxiety ;  to  feel, 
moreover,  that  a  diderent  course  toward  Ned  would 
be  wiser;  yet,  withal,  not  knowing  how  to  help 
matters,  or,  as  jAxe  had  said  to  £thel,  "  how  to  roaka 
crooked  things  straight."  "  Well,  I  can  try  to  do  my 
part  in  the  home,  anyway,"  she  said  to  herself;  and 
that  was  the  outcome  of  all  her  thinking. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  THREE  FRIEND0. 

A  PICNIC  would  hardly  seem  complete  to  Ethel 
-^^  unless  her  friend  Grace  was  there;  so  Grace 
and  her  sister  Aggie  were  asked  to  join  them,  ajid 
gladly  they  accepted  the  invitation. 

The  followinp-  T-esday  found  Ethel  and  Milly  busy 
in  the  kitchen,  making  preparations  for  the  picnic. 
Millie,  naturally  indolent  about  household  matters  at 
ordinary  times,  and  requiring  frequent  reminding  to 
keep  her  up  to  her  duties,  always  shone  forth  on  spe- 
cial occasions  like  the  present.  So  now  she  whisked 
eggs,  beat  batter,  frosted  cakes,  and  filled  tarts,  with 
commendable  zeal.  Every  little  while  she  would  run 
to  the  back  door  to  see  what  the  wenthor  promised  to 
be.  On  one  of  these  occasions  she  observed  clouds 
gathering. 

"  Oh,  Ethel,  do  see  those  clouds ;  what  if  it  should 
rain  to-morrow?" 

"What  did  you  remark,  Millie?"  inquii-ed  Ethel, 
who  w&<«  just  looking  in  the  oven  at  her  cakes. 

"  I  say,  I  am  afraid  it  will  rain  to-morrow ;  look 
at  those  clouds." 

"  It  does  not  look  like  rain  to  me,"  said  Ethel, 
glancing  hastily  out  of  the  window,  and  catching  a 

68 


THE  TURBB   FBIEM08. 


ft» 


glimpse  of  blue  bIcv.  "  Come,  Millie,  theiie  patties 
are  dune  ;  you  can  take  them  out  of  the  paus  while  I 
l)ut  the  other  cake  in." 

You  did  not  look  in  the  right  plave  to  see  tiie 
cloudH,"  said  Millie,  in  an  aggrieved  tone. 

*'  Well,  I  am  too  busy  now ;  perhaps  they  will 
have  cleannl  away  when  I  get  time  to  look  for  them." 

"  They  are  coming  over,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Millie. 
"  Wouldn't  it  be  too  bad  if  it  should  rain  to-mor- 
row?" 

"It  would  be  a  disappointment,  vt^hen  we  have 
made  all  our  preparations." 

"  And  the  grass  would  be  wet ;  so  it  would  he  of 
no  use  to  go  Thursday,'*  continued  Millie,  dolefully. 

"  Well,  it  hasn't  rained  yet,"  said  Ethel. 

"  Rain  or  shine,  we  have  to  take  things  as  they 
come,"  remarked  Ann,  philosophiadly,  pausing  in  her 
ironing  to  glunce  out  of  the  window. 

"  There's  James,"  cried  Millie,  suddenly,  spying  the 
man  who  did  their  gardening.  "  He  knows  all  about 
the  weather.  I'll  ask  him."  And  away  she  went  to 
the  garden. 

"  James,"  she  said,  "  do  you  think  it  will  rain  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  No,  miss,  I  don't;  we  are  in  for  a  spell  of  dry 
weather." 

"  But  just  look  at  those  clouds,  James." 

The  gardener  looked  in  the  direction  pointed  oat, 
then  resuming  work,  said : 


i 


:.  '. 


!!S 


!  ! 


60 


THREE  QIBLB. 


■- V 


■■  i 


"Those  clouds  don't  amount  to  much.  It  may 
sprinkle  a  little  before  morning ;  but  it  won't  be  much, 
anyway." 

As  J&mes  was  considered  an  oracle  on  weather 
matters,  Millie  returned  to  the  house  quite  in  good 
spirits. 

By  evening,  however,  it  was  so  dull  and  cloudy  that 
Millie  began  to  lose  faith  in  the  oracle,  especially 
wheti  even  her  father  joined  the  others  in  expressing 
the  fear  that  the  day  would  not  be  fine. 

Night  settled  dow^i,  dark  and  still.  A  patter  of 
raindrops  was  hoird  on  the  elm  leaves,  and  Millie 
had  to  go  to  bed  with  her  doubts  unsatisfied.  She 
WHS  the  first  one  to  awaken  in  the  morning,  and  no 
sooner  did  she  discover  chat  it  was  a  fine  day  than  she 
hastened  to  arouse  the  other  members  of  the  family. 

Soon  all  were  astir.  Then  came  the  business  of 
getting  ready.  Ethel  helped  her  mother  make  sand- 
wiches, and  pack  the  basket.  Millie  undertook  to 
dress  the  children,  losing  her  patience  a  good  many 
times  while  doing  so.  At  last  everything  was  ready. 
Grace  and  Aggie  joined  them,  and  they  set  off  for  tho 
train,  a  merry  party,  ready  to  h^  amused  and  pleased 
at  anything. 

There  were  but  few  passengers  in  the  train  that 
morning.  Outside  of  our  young  friends,  they  could 
be  counted  on  one's  fingers.  An  old  gentleman  read- 
ing a  newspaper  very  diligently,  a  young,  and  rather 
tired-looking  mother  with  three  little  children,  a  pleas- 


much.     It  may 
it  won't  be  much, 

acle  on  weather 
Lse  quite  in  good 

i  and  cloudy  that 
oracle,  especially 
3rs  in  expressing 
ae. 

11.  A  patter  of 
aves,  and  Millie 
unsatisfied.  She 
morning,  and  no 
fine  day  than  she 
3  of  the  family, 
the  business  of 
:>ther  make  sand- 
lie  undertook  to 
loe  a  good  many 
thing  was  ready. 
,ey  set  off  for  th«» 
used  and  pleased 

!n  the  train  that 
lends,  they  could 
gentleman  read- 
oung,  and  rather 
children,  a  pleas- 


THE  THBEK  FBIENDS. 


61 


ant-faced,  elderly  lady,  whose  little  grandchildren 
were  held  up  to  kiss  her  goodbye  before  the  train 
started,  a  pale  young  girl,  in  rather  shabby  mourn- 
ing, upon  whom  life's  burdens  and  cares  seemed  to 
have  fallen  early,  and  a  grave  and  studious-looking 
young  man,  who  had  been  wrapped  in  his  own  medi- 
tations before  the  entrance  of  the  picnic  party,  but 
thenceforward  ^und  the  merry  group  a  more  interest- 
ing study.    These  made  up  the  company. 

Soon  the  train  was  rapidly  speeding  along  through 
green  fields,  and  past  thriving  farms.  Presently,  the 
speed  slackened. 

"We  are  coming  to  West  Milton,  now,"  said 
Ethel.    *•  The  next  station  after  this  will  be  ours." 

As  the  train  stopped,  two  women  came  aboard. 
Apparently  they  had  plenty  to  say  to  each  other,  for 
no  sooner  had  they  taken  their  seats,  than  they  began 
a  stream  of  conversation  which  flowed  on  unceas- 
ingly. 

Again  the  whistle  sounded.  This  time  the  girls 
gathered  together  their  baskets  and  wraps  in  readiness 
to  get  off.  The  brakes  were  put  down  hard,  and  the 
train  came  to  rather  an  abrupt  standstill.  The  two 
wom«<n  engaged  in  animated  discussion  of  their  neigh- 
bors suddenly  dropped  alike  their  voices  and  the 
thread  of  their  conversation,  and  gave  their  undivided 
attention  to  the  party  that  filed  out  of  the  car.  The 
old  gentleman  looked  up  from  his  paper,  and  the  elderly 
lady  smiled  most  benignly  on  them.    The  young  girl 


•■  / 


) . 


■    ^ 


V    E 


li 


!  ■  \ 


m 


^LXim'^MmMm!^J^imp!i- 


THBEfi  OIBLS. 


62 


gased  wist...  iy  oat  of  the  car  window  at  the  bright 
faces.  Her  life  had  few  pleasures.  The  young  man 
raised  the  window  shade  higher,  wondering  whether 
all  the  sunshine  had  gone  out  of  the  car,  then  gave 
himself  up  to  his  book ;  yet,  singularly  enough,  he 
heard  what  the  talkative  woman  across  the  aisle  said 
to  her  neighbor. 

**  Do  you  see  the  girl  with  the  red  flowers  in  her 
hat?"  she  was  saying;  "that's  Miss  Maynard. 
You've  heard  of  Maynard  &  Perry,  haven't  you?  Most 
every  one  has.  Well  that's  his  eldest  daughter,"  a 
statement  sufficiently  clear  to  her  friend,  who  re- 
sponded : 

"Stylisli,  ain't  she?" 

"  Yes ;  I  took  a  good  look  at  her  dress  as  she 
passed,  and  I  have  a  notion  that  I'll  make  Miranda's 

like  it;  pleats  and "  but  here  the  train  started, 

and  the  young  man  heard  no  more. 

Meanwhile,  all  unconscious  of  the  interest  they  had 
excited,  our  young  friends  trudged  on.  It  was  not 
very  far  to  Aunt  Annie's ;  and  there  was  Aunt  An- 
nie herself  in  the  front  garden,  and  there  were  the 
children,  who,  when  they  saw  the  party  coming,  set 
up  a  shout  of  delight,  and  started  on  the  run  to  meet 
them. 

Aunt  Annie  gave  them  a  warm  welcome,  and  helped 
them  put  away  the  baskets.  The  younger  membere 
of  the  party  went  off  to  see  the  colt,  and  the  brood  of 
chickens,  and  the  white  rabbits  given  to  Ernest  on  his 


low  at  the  bright 
The  young  man 
>ndering  whether 
le  car,  then  gave 
ilarly  enough,  he 
'OSS  the  aisle  said 

ed  flowers  in  her 

Miss    Maynard. 

iven'tyou?  Most 

lest  daughter,"  a 

ft-iend,  who  re- 


ler  dress  as  she 

make  Miranda's 

the  train  started, 

interest  they  had 
on.  It  was  not 
re  was  Aunt  An- 
i  there  were  the 
party  coming,  set 
the  run  to  meet 

come,  and  helped 
'onnger  membera 
and  the  brood  of 
to  Ernest  on  his 


TH£  THRBG  FBIENDS. 


63 


last  birthday,  and  all  the  other  attractions  which 
made  this  country  home  so  delightful.  The  older 
ones,  after  a  talk  with  Aunt  Annie,  Bbt  off  for  »• 
raml)le.  They  went  through  tlie  orchard,  lingtri.jg 
a  moment  to  peep  in  the  yellow-bird's  nest ;  then  out 
into  the  field,  single  file,  along  the  path  by  the  fence, 
stopping  to  gather  some  wild  roses,  and  to  pick  here 
and  there  a  bright  strawberry  that  shone  out  tempt- 
ingly from  among  green  leaves ;  and  so  on  up  to  the 
grove,  which  crowned  a  little  height. ' 

Oh,  how  cool  and  shady  it  was,  and  how  sweet  the 
aroma  of  fir  and  pine  trees  I  And  how  quiet  it  was, 
save  for  the  music  of  a  little  brook  that  babbled 
alonj?  its  rocky  channel  in  the  valley  beneath,  or  the 
occasional  noisy  chatter  of  a  squirrel,  which  eyed  the 
intruders  from  the  safe  vantage  of  some  tall  tree. 

Millie  went  in  quest  of  moss  and  ferns,  and  other 
woodland  treasures.  Ethel  and  Grace  sat  down  on  a 
rustic  seat,  from  whence  they  hafl  a  view  of  green 
meadows  and  distant  wooded  hills,  while  nearer  a 
stream,  to  which  the  babbling  brook  was  a  tributary, 
gleamed  out  here  and  there  between  its  fringe  of  trees. 
For  a  while  the  two  giris  sat  silent ;  a„  last  Ethel 
spoke: 

"  We  do  not  have  so  much  to  say  to  one  another  as 
those  two  women  ou  the  train,"'  she  said. 

"Didn't  they  talk,  though,"  said  Grace;  "but 
Ethel,  did  you  notice  how  that  young  man  looked  at 
us?" 


I  ■ 


ijii 


*/  ;  J 


64 


THREE  OIBUB. 


*•'  No,  I  didn't." 

"  Why  he  scarcely  took  his  eyes  from  ub.  I  felt 
quite  provoked  at  him.  Sometimes  I  would  look 
straight  at  him,  and  then  he  w^uld  drop  his  eyes  and 
appear  to  be  reading  his  book.  I  rather  liked  his 
face,  though  thoughtful  and  grave.  I  wonder  who  he 
can  be?    He  doesn't  belong  to  Melvin,  I  am  sure." 

''  If  he  was  grave  and  thoughtful  I  dare  say  he  set 
us  down  as  very  frivolous  and  silly." 

"  Why,  were  "We?  "  asked  Grace,  looking  rather  dis- 
mayed. 

"  No,  of  course  not.  What  makes  you  take  every- 
thing in  earnest  to-day.  Hark  I  Is  that  Millie  call- 
ing?    Let  us  go  and  find  her." 

They  followed  a  path  that  led  through  the  grove  to 
where'  the  brouk  had  worn  for  itself  a  hollow,  and 
fell  tumbling  over  the  rucks  in  a  series  of  miniature 
cascades  to  the  valley  beneath. 

"Come  over  here,"  called  Millie, "  it's  just  lovely." 
She  was  sitting  on  a  broad,  flat  stone  on  the  opposite 
bank.  "  See  here,"  she  said,  as  they  crossed  over  and 
seated  themselves  beside  her,  "  all  these  fern  roots  for 
the  fernery,  and  is  not  this  a  pretty  piece  of  moss?'* 

"Where  did  you  get  them?"  asked  Grace.  "I 
must  have  some  too." 

"  Well,  there  are  plenty  more  where  I  got  these, 
underneath  that  bank." 

"  I  will  not  get  any  ferus  until  the  afternoon,  but  I 
will  look  up  some  moss  now,"  said  Grace. 


from  US.  I  felt 
»  I  would  look 
Irop  his  eyes  and 

rather  liked  his 
I  wonder  who  he 
in,  I  am  sure.'' 
I  dare  say  he  set 

oking  rather  dis- 

9  you  take  every- 
that  Millie  call- 

lugh  the  grove  to 
If  a  hollow,  and 
ries  of  miniature 

it's  just  lovely." 
3  on  the  opposite 
crossed  over  and 
ese  fern  roots  for 
piece  of  moss  ?  " 
ked  Grace.    « I 

lere  I  got  these, 

i  afternoon,  bnl  I 
irrace. 


imniiMWffWwwim 


Mli^M 


THE  THREB  FBirNDS. 


66 


They  wandered  about  for  a  while,  exploring  the 
farthest  limits  of  the  grove,  and  -eturniug  with  their 
hands  full  of  moss  and  trailing  vires. 

"  Had  we  not  better  go  back  tc  the  house  now  and 
get  our  baskets,"  said  Ethel,  "it  is  about  time  we  set 
out  our  dinners;  the  children  will  be  ready  for  it" 

"And  I  will  be  ready  too,"  said  Grace.  «  I  don't 
know  when  I  have  felt  so  hungry." 

"I  am  as  hungry  as  a  bear,"  echoed  Millie. 
"Come,  girls."'  And  away  they  went,  back  through 
the  shadowy  grove  out  into  the  sftnshine. 

"There's  Fannie  Weldon,  I  do  declare,"  exclaimed 
Grace,  "just  coming  through  the  gate.  Won't  she  be 
surprised  to  find  us  all  here?  Come,  girls,  hurry 
up."  There  v.  as  a  flutter  of  dresses,  a  race  to  see 
who  would  get  there  first,  and  soon  Fannie  Weldon 
was  sunounded,  while  a  shower  of  questions  was 
poured  on  her  from  every  side. 

"When  did  you  come?"  "How  did  you  get 
here  ?  "  "  Where  did  you  spring  from  ?  "  they  asked, 
all  in  one  breath. 

"  Why,  I  have  been  out  at  Forest  Glen,  visiting 
some  friends.  I  drove  in  this  morning,  and  finding 
I  would  have  to  wait  two  hours  for  a  train,  I  con- 
eluded  to  call  on  Mrs.  Lee.  That  is  how  I  h«i- 
pened  to  be  here.  Now  what  has  brought  you  all 
here?" 

"  Oh,  a  picnic,  of  course ;  not  a  large  one— just  we^ 
us,  and  company,"  said  Grace. 


66 


THREE  OIRL8. 


"  You  are  not  going  in  by  the  one  o'clock  train ; 
you  mu8*  "Stay  with  us/'  insisted  Ethel. 

They  were  all  by  this  time  seated  in  the  cool,  pleas- 
ant parlor,  fanning  themselvts  with  their  hats;  then 
Mrs.  Lee  came,  and  joined  the  others  in  urging  Fan- 
nie to  stay. 

"  I  am  sure  your  invitation  is  a  very  tempting  one 
— too  tempting,  in  fact,  to  resist  I  suppose  I  had 
better  enjoy  all  the  recreation  I  can,  for  I  shall  be 
busy  enough  next  winter,  as  it  will  be  my  last  year  at 
college." 

"  You  look  paler  and  thinner  than  when  I  last  saw 
you,  Fannie,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  gazing  anxiously  at  the 
young  girl,  whose  form  and  face  told  the  tale  that  it 
was  energy  and  ambitiia  rather  than  physical 
strength  that  enabled  her  to  do  all  she  did. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  s-  I  am  feeling  very  well, 
though  only  a  little  tired  sometimes;  but  I  expect  to 
jrain  strength  this  summer,  for  uncle  has  purchased  a 
cottage  at  Long  View,  and  we  are  all  going  down 
there  for  the  summer  months." 

"  Won't  that  be  delightful,"  chimed  in  the  other 
girls  in  chorus. 

"  Ye«,  indeed,  we  expect  to  have  fine  times,  just 
rusticating,  quite  in  camp  style,  you  know,  and  I 
want  all  my  friends  to  come  and  see  me ;  it  is  just  a 
lovely  place  for  picnics." 

Fannie  grew  enthusi**  ac  as  she  went  on  to  describe 
the  charms  of  Long  View,  which  was  a  quiet  seaside 


imm 


me  o'clock  train ; 

lel. 

in  the  cool,  pleas- 

1  their  hats ;  then 

rs  in  urging  Fan- 

rery  tempting  one 

I  suppose  I  had 

Ein,  for  I  shall  be 

be  my  last  year  at 

n  when  I  last  saw 
g  anxiously  at  the 
old  the  tale  that  it 
er  than  physical 
she  did. 

feeling  very  well, 
m;  but  I  expect  to 
lie  has  purchased  a 
re  all  going  down 

limed  in  the  other 

ve  fine  times,  just 

you  know,  and  I 

>e  me ;  it  is  just  a 

went  on  to  describe 
was  a  quiet  seaside 


THE  TUBES  FBIENDS. 


67 


resort,  not  >b  yet  invaded  by  many  pleasure  seekers, 
and  therefore  all  the  more  delightful  to  those  who 
enjoy  laying  aside  for  a  time  the  conventionalities  of 
city  life.  She  finished  up  by  decbring  that  Ethel 
and  Grace  oJight  to  persuade  their  fathers  to  rent  cot^ 
tages  there  for  the  summer. 

"  It  would  be  very  pleasant  to  be  all  together,"  said 
Grace,  "  but  I  know  it  is  no  use  suggesting  it,  for 
mother  thinks  the  sea  air  does  not  agree  with  her- 
besides,  she  prefers  to  board  when  away  from  home 
She  always  says  she  would  likt;  M>me  quiet  country 
pkce  where  she  can  rest. 

"  Well,  then,  I  know  just  the  pkce  to  suit  her," 
said  Fannie,  "and  that  is  Forest  Glen  where  I  have 
been  staying  the  past  few  days.  It  is  almost  out  of 
the  world,  shut  in  among  hills,  and  not  even  a  rail- 
way  passing  within  ten  miles.  You  can  get  good 
home-like  board  at  a  very  reasonable  rate  at  the 
iarm-house  where  I  was.  There  are  plenty  of  berries 
m  berry  time,  and  there  is  plenty  of  cream  to  eat  with 
them.  There  are  pleasant  walks  and  some  pretty 
drives.     I'll  give  you  the  address,  if  you  like." 

"Thank  yon,  I  will  tell  mother  about  it.  I  am 
sure  it  is  just  the  place  she  would  like." 

"If  you  decide  to  go,  I  will  drop  a  line  to  Mrs. 
Benton,  and  tell  her  you  are  special  Mexula  of  mine. 
You  will  have  no  trouble  then  in  obtaining  board." 

"  You  are  a  jewel,  Fannie.  I  am  so  glad  you  had 
to  wait  here  for  a  train  to-day." 


^^ 


I 


*> 


68 


THREE  OIRUS, 


"  It  was  quite  a  ooinoidence,"  said  Faunie.  "  Why, 
here  is  Bessie.  How  she  is  growing  !  I  hardly  knew 
the  child." 

Bessie  came  in  rather  shyly,  and  shook  hands  with 
Fannie ;  then  hung  about  her  sister.  After  a  while  she 
said,  in  a  half-whisper,  "  Ethel,  when  are  we  going  to 
have  the  picnic  ?  " 

"  Why  we  are  having  the  picnic  now,  are  we  not," 
replied  Ethel,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  but  I  mean  the  reed  picnic." 

"  I  suppose  that  means  unpacking  the  baskets,  and 
having  our  dinner ;  that  is  a  very  important  part  of 
the  picnic,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  vote  we  proceed  at  once  to  have  the  real  picnic," 
said  Grace.  "  If  it  had  not  been  for  you,  Fannie 
Weldon,  w«  would  have  had  our  dinner  set  out  by  this 
time ;  we  were  coming  for  the  baskets  when  we  saw 
you,  and  we  have  been  talking  ever  since,  and  leaving 
the  poor  children  to  starve." 

"  No  danger  of  their  starving  while  Aunt  Annie  is 
around,"  put  in  Millie,  laughing. 

"  With  my  invaluable  assistance,  girls,  you  will  be 
able  to  set  out  your  table  in  just  one-quarter  of  the 
time  it  would  have  taken  you  without  me,"  said  Fan- 
nie. 

"  Did  I  ever  hear  such  conceit,"  retorted  Gitice ; 
"  after  that  I  have  a  great  mind  to  give  you  the  heaviest 
basket  to  carr)*."   And  so  they  went  gayly  to  the  grove. 

When  all  was  ready,  Aunt  Annie  was  asked  to  join 


a  Fannie.    "Why, 
g  I    I  hardly  knew 

shook  hands  with 
.  After  a  while  she 
lien  are  we  going  to 

now,  are  we  not," 

c.» 

ag  the  baskets,  and 

important  part  of 

ive  the  real  picnic," 
n  for  you,  Fannie 
jnner  set  out  by  this 
jsketfl  when  we  saw 
ir  since,  and  leaving 

^hile  Aunt  Annie  is 

e,  girls,  you  will  be 

one-quarter  of  the 

lout  rae,"  said  Fan- 

t,"  retorted  Grace; 
give  you  the  heaviest 
it  gayly  to  the  grove, 
lie  was  asked  to  join 


THE  TMBEB  FRIENDS. 


e» 


them.  I  need  not  describe  their  dinner,  for  every  one 
knows  how  pleasant  it  is  to  eat  in  the  open  air,  under 
tiie  shade  of  murmuiing  pines,  even  if  the  milk  is  full 
of  specks  and  ants  run  over  the  table-cluth.  Every- 
thing was  pronounced  excellent,  and  any  mishap  was 
only  a  signal  for  merriment.  At  length  all  were 
satisfied,  the  baskets  were  repacked,  the  table-cloth 
Hhakeii,  and  the  ants  and  flies  were  allowed  undisputed 
possession  of  the  remains  of  the  feast. 

Aunt  Annie  returned  to  the  house;  the  children 
went  oflF  to  play;  and  the  girls  wandered  at  will 
through  the  grove,  making  it  echo  with  tlieir  merry 
talk  and  laughter.  At  length,  Grace,  Ethel,  and 
Fannie  sat  down  to  rest  on  the  spreading  roots  of  ar 
old  pine  tree.  Ethel  busied  herself  picking  over  ai 
arranging  the  mosses  and  ferns  she  had  gathered. 
Funnie  leaned  back  against  the  tree,  and  gazed 
dreamily  out  on  the  sunny  meadows  and  circling 
hills,  hazy  in  the  distance.  Grace  fanned  herself 
with  her  large  ha.  Quiet  settled  over  the  group. 
Grace  was  the  first  one  to  break  the  silence  with  the 
ofr-used  quotation,  "When  shall  we  three  meet 
again?" 

"I  hope  not  in  'thunder,  lightning,  and  rain,"' 
said  Fannie. 

It  was  only  natural  after  this  that  they  should 
begin  to  talk  of  their  plans  for  the  future,  and  grad- 
ually, almost  without  knowing  it,  they  drifted  into 
quite  a  serious  talk. 


.:ii«i 


ff 


ry 


70 


THBER  QIRIJB. 


I 


"It  seems  to  me,  sometimea,  as  though  I  can 
Bcarcely  have  patience  until  I  finish  my  studies.  I 
am  80  auxious  to  be  doing  something  in  the  world," 
.said  Fannie;  "there  is  so  much  to  be  done." 

"  What  do  you  plan  to  do  after  leaving  college?" 
asked  Etiicl. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  my  part  will  l)e  yet ;  but  I 
do  know  that  I  want  to  work  just  where  I  am  most 
needed,  and  where  I  can  do  most  good." 

"  Since  I  left  school,"  said  £thel,  "  I  have  many 
times  wished  that  I  had  some  special  work  to  do ; 
but  I  have  stronger  home  ties  than  you,  Fannie, 
and  it  was  very  plainly  my  duty  to  share  the  burdens 
mother  has  so  long  'Dome  alone.  But  I  have  felt  the 
need  of  a  stronger  and  more  definite  purpose  than  the 
general  one,  to  live  as  good  a  life  as  possible.  You 
cannot  imagine  how  perplexed  I  have  been,  some- 
timed,  as  to  what  time  to  give  to  various  pursuits, 
and  I  have  often  wondeied  whether  things  that 
seemed  to  be  duties  were  really  worth  while,  after 
all.  One  little  vei*so  has  hel{)ed  me  so  much,  lately ; 
it  is  this :  *  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God.'  That 
places  a  definite  object  before  me.  To  bring  about 
that  kingdom  in  my  heart  and  life,  and  in  the  hearts 
and  lives  of  others  whom  I  may  reach,  should  bo  my 
one  and  continual  aim.  And  you,  in  the  great  out- 
side world,  and  I,  in  my  little  world  of  home,  can 
equally  well  seek  that  kingdom." 

Fannic's  eyei?  brightened.  "  I  shall  make  that  verse 


THE  THREE  FRIS^DB. 


n 


though   I   can 

I  my  studies.     I 
g  in  the  world," 
e  done." 
eaving  college?" 

II  1)6  yet ;  but  I 
khere  I  am  most 
kI." 

"  I  have  many 
iial  work  to  do; 
in  you,  Fannie, 
ihare  the  burdens 
It  I  have  felt  the 
purpose  than  the 

possible.  You 
nave  been,  some- 
various  pursuits, 
ther  things  that 
orth  while,  after 
so  much,  lately ; 
I  of  God.'     That 

To  bring  aI>out 
and  in  the  hearts 
ch,  should  be  my 
n  the  great  out- 
rid  of  home,  can 

1  make  that  verse 


my  motto  too,  Ethel,  for  that  is  what  we  are  in  the 
world  for, — we  who  profess  to  be  Christians, — and  we 
are  disloyal  to  the  Great  King  if  we  do  not  use  all 
our  energies  to  extend  his  kingdom." 

"I  have  added  another  verse  to  it,"  continued 
Ethel,  "  because  I  think  it  helps  one  to  see  how  to 
seek  that  kingdom.  It  is  found  in  Romans  14  :  17  : 
'  The  kingdom  of  God  is  righteousness,  and  peace, 
and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost.' " 

Crace,  who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation 
hitherto,  now  looked  up,  and  said  :  "  Why,  girls,  you 
make  me  feel  dreadfully.  I  have  never  looked  upon 
life  in  this  serious  way ;  though  I  have  thought  a 
little  more  about  it  lately.  Not  so  much  as  J  should, 
however." 

"  I  wanted  you  to  take  that  text  for  a  motto,"  said 
Ethel,  "  when  I  spoke  to  you  about  it  a  few  weeks 
ago." 

"  I  know.  It  is  since  then  that  I  have  thought  of 
things  differently  from  what  I  did  before." 

"  Won't  you  take  it  for  your  motto  now,  then  ?  " 

"  I  am  almost  afraid  to.  I  am  »ure  I  would  for- 
get about  it  half  the  time." 

"  Well,  even  then,  that  would  not  be  so  bad  as  for- 
getting it  cdl  the  time,"  remarked  Fannie. 

"Jesus  has  promised  that  the  Holy  Spirit  shall 
teach  us  all  truth,  and  bring  to  our  remembrance 
all  things,"  said  Ethel,  gently.  "Grace,  dear,  we 
know  where  to  go  for  help ;  '  Our  sufficieuf^  is  of 


:  -'di*??a?i,w::,' 


/ 


/ 


u 


THHEE  OIRUk 


Qod.'    Without  his  aid  we  should  certainly  fail,  out 
you  Icnow  we  never  seelc  his  help  in  vain." 

"  Yes,  I  icnow  that,"  answered  Grace,  remember- 
ing with  a  thrill  of  gladness  how  very  lately  she 
had  received  help  in  trying  to  walk  in  the  Christian 
way.  "  Yes,"  she  added,  "  I  will  try,  with  you,  to 
seek  that  kingdom ;  and  let  us  report  to  one  another 
BOuietimes.     It  will  help  us;  at  least,  it  will  help  me." 

"  It  will  help  us  each,"  said  Fannie. 

"  And  do  you  not  think,"  said  Ethel,  "  that,  as  we 
try  to  act  upon  this  principle,  we  shall  see  more  and 
more  how  widely  it  can  be  applied ;  how,  in  fact,  it 
touches  our  lives  at  every  point.  Then  we  can  bring 
together  our  various  experiences,  and  help  one 
another." 

"  How  much  it  means  to  be  a  Christian,"  said 
Grace ;  "  more  than  I  ever  thought.  I  think,"  she 
added,  a  little  hesitatingly,  "  we  ought  to  pray -for 
one  another,  that  we  may  be  earnest  and  faithful." 

"  I  will,"  said  Etliel,  gently. 

"  I  will  too,"  said  Fannie. 

"  And  I  will,"  added  Grace,  softly. 

So  three  young  hearts  were  bound  together  by 
strongest  ties,  pledged  to  help  one  another  in  that 
which  was  henceforth  to  be  the  one  great  aim  of  their 
lives,  the  seeking  of  Christ's  kingdom. 

For  a  while  they  sat  silent,  letting  the  quiet  loveli- 
ness of  that  summer  afternoon  throw  over  them  its 
spell  of  restfulness.    Through  opening  vistas  of  the 


IK 


THK  THUEB  FRIEIOXS. 


n 


ertainly  fail,  uuk 
vain." 

race,  remember- 
very  lately  she 
in  the  Christian 
ry,  with  you,  to 
rt  to  one  another 
it  will  help  me." 
e. 

iiel,  "  that,  as  we 
ill  see  mure  and 
;  how,  in  fact,  it 
en  we  can  bring 
and    help    one 

Christian,"  said 
I  think,"  she 
fht  to  pray -for 
ind  faithful." 


ad  together  by 

Einother  in  that 

eat  aim  of  their 

1. 

the  quiet  loveli- 

V  over  them  its 

ig  vistas  of  the 


iraes  they  oaught  a  glimpse  of  sunny  meadows,  and 
gleaming  waters,  and  far-away  liills,  over  which  per- 
petual peace  seemed  to .  brood.  The  slumberous 
soughings  of  the  pines,  the  murmuring  of  the  little 
brook  in  the  dell  below,  the  merry  voices  of  oliildren 
ringing  out  in  the  distance,  were  the  only  sounds  that 
broke  the  dreamy  quiet. 

By-and-by  lengthening  shadows  warned  them  that 
it  was  time  to  prepare  for  the  homeward  journey. 
So  they  wended  their  way  to  the  house,  laden  with 
ferns,  and  mosses,  and  vines.  Then  came  the  hunt- 
ing up  of  the  children,  and  the  guthering  together  of 
baskets  and  wraps. 

Aunt  Annie  went  with  them  to  the  station,  trying 
to  think  in  the  last  moments  of  all  that  she  wanted 
to  say  to  Ethel,  and  all  the  me&sages  she  wished  to 
send  to  friends. 

Soon  came  a  whistle,  and  the  rush  of  the  incoming 
train.  Then  thei-e  wer<'  hurried  good-byes,  a  waving 
of  hands  as  the  cars  moved  away,  a  short  journey, 
more  good-byes  as  they  parted  from  Fannie,  who 
went  on  farther,  and  they  were  home  again,  and  the 
bright,  happy  day  was  ended. 

But  something  remained;  for,  with  the  fleeting 
moments  of  that  day  had  been  interwoven  thoughts 
and  wordt  of  faith,  hope,  and  love;  and  these,  we  are 
told,  abidj. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


8L0CE8S  AND  FAILUBE. 


/^  RACE  thought  much  in  the  weeks  that  followed 
V^  about  this  kingdom  that  she  had  promised  to 
seek.  That  word  about  making  home  a  "  little  king- 
dom of  God  "  had  sunk  deep  into  her  heart;  and,  not 
waiting  for  any  great  work,  she  began  with  that  whicli 
was  nearest  her.  So  she  tried  to  be  more  gentle,  and 
kind,  and  patient  than  ever  before,  and  cheerful  too; 
for  she  wished  to  be  as  a  sunbeam  in  the  house.  For 
the  first  week  it  was  not  very  hai'd  ;  nothing  especial 
happened  to  tr)'  her.  Her  cheerfulness  and  good 
spirits,  her  readiness  to  help  every  one,  from  Bridget 
up,  seemed  infectious,  and  the  wheels  of  domestic  life 
rolled  on  with  unwonted  smoothness. 

But,  alas,  the  second  week  came  in  chilly  and  rainy. 
Perhaps  the  gloomy  weather  had  a  depressing  effect ; 
perhaps  the  various  members  of  the  household  met 
with  moie  to  try  their  patience.  Whatever  was  the 
reason,  every  one  seemed  to  be  out  of  sorts. 

Mr.  Maynard  was  taciturn;  Mrs.  Maynard,  worn 
out  from  the  effects  of  her  spring  sewing,  wag  nervous 
and  irritable ;  Aggie  ■^as  unusually  fretful ;  Ned 
found  as  much  fuult  as  t  dared  with  everything  and 
everybody;  Bridget  appeared  sulky,  in  reality  she 
74 


i:     f 


■IPVI 


SUCCESS  AND    FAILURE. 


76 


:s  that  followed 
ad  promised  to 
a  "  little  king- 
iieart ;  and,  not 
vith  that  which 
lore  gentle,  and 
id  cheerful  too; 
be  house.  For 
lothing  especial 
ness  and  good 
;  from  Bridget 
)f  domestic  life 

lilly  and  rainy, 
pressing  effect; 
household  met 
latever  was  the 
sorts. 

I^aynard,  worn 
g,  was  nervous 
fretful;  Ned 
5  very  thing  and 
in  reality  she 


was  sufi'rtring  with  toothache,  but  she  said  nothing 
about  it ;  Grace,  blessed  with  good  health  •'nd  more 
natural  cheerfulness  than  the  others,  was  the  only  one 
who  kept  on  the  even  tenor  of  her  way.  She  laughed 
Ned  out  of  fault-finding,  soothed  Aggie,  and  encour- 
aged her  mother,  and  took  no  notice  of  Bridget's  sulks. 
But  natural  amiability  wore  down  under  the  strain. 

There  came  a  day  before  the  end  of  the  week  when 
Grace  grew  discouraged  and  tired  of  being  good. 
Aggie  was  so  unreasonable,  Ned  so  exasperating, 
Bridget  made  such  stupid  mistakes,  that  Grace  felt 
as  though  she  would  like  to  join  the  general  chorus, 
and  find  feult  too;  in  fact,  ^e  thought  she  was  quite 
justified  in  doing  so.  She  had  been  very  busy  that 
day,  trying  to  pake  up  for  Bridget's  inefficiency. 
She  had  too,  a  piece  of  fancy  work  on  hand  that  she  was 
anxious  to  finish.  Going  upstairs,  somewhat  tire^, 
she  found  her  room  littered  with  Aggie's  playthings. 
Her  hitherto  suppressed  vexation  she  could  no  longer 
conceal.  She  did  not  stop  to  think  about  it  or  she 
would  not  have  s^joken  as  she  did.  She  would  not 
have  neutralized  the  influence  of  the  past  week,  and 
she  would  not  have  stored  up  unpleasant  memories  that 
would  be  long  in  taking  themselves  away.  She  did 
not  stop  to  think,  ami  so  she  called  out  imperiously : 

"Aggie,  come  quickly,  and  put  your  things  away. 
This  room  looks  dreadful." 

"  I'm  so  tired,  Grace ;  you  might  put  them  away 
this  once." 


-|-^ 


1 


; 


I, 

i 


M 


76 


THREE  OIRLS. 


"  I  am  busy  now,  Aggie.  Besides,  you  ougat  to  do 
it ;  it  won't  take  you  long.  My  !  you  have  been 
rummaging  over  this  drawer,  and  everything  is  topsy- 
turvy ;  you  have  no  business  to  do  tliat.  Now  I  want 
the  silks  to  work  in  thfe  cencre  of  these  flowers,  and  I 
have  to  waste  all  this  time  loolnng  for  them,  and  every- 
thing is  in  a  tangle."  Grace's  vexation  did  i  ot  sub- 
side until  the  missing  silks  were  found. 

Then  Aggie  began,  not  in  the  very  best  hi  imor,  to 
gather  up  her  dolls  and  doll  clothes.  While  <ioing  so, 
she  somewhat  carelessly,  es  it  seemed  to  Grace,  knocked 
against  a  little  table  and  overturned  a  vase  of  flowers. 
Luckily,  the  vase  did  not  break  ;  but  the  water  was 
spilled  on  the  carpet  and  splashed  the  table-scarf  that 
GiHi*  w?s  making,  arousing  her  indignation  anew. 

"  Oh,  A^ie,  what  a  careless  girl  you  are  ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. Whereat  Aggie  began  to  cry,  and  Mrs.  May- 
nard  came  in  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

"  You  shorM  noi,  be  so  cross  with  the  child,"  she 
said.    "  You  know  Aggie  is  cot  well." 

"  I  believe  she  is  as  well  as  any  of  os,  only  she  has 
gotten  into  the  habit  of  fretting  and  being  selfish,  and 
wanting  others  to  do  everj'thing  for  her ;  arid  now  she 
must  needs  upset  this  vase  to  make  a  little  more  work." 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  cried  Aggie,  indignantly. 

"  I  am  sure,  Grace,  it  is  very  unkind  of  you  to  say 
such  things,"'  said  her  mother.  "  You  had  better  not 
have  vases  of  flowers  in  your  room  if  they  make  you 


so  cross. 


SUCCESS  AND    FAILURE. 


T7 


rou  ODgat  to  do 
ou  have  been 
thing  is  topsy- 
t.  Now  I  want 
flowers,  and  I 
lem,  and  every- 
1  did  I  ot  sub- 
best  hiimor,  to 
Vhile  rioing  so, 
jrrace,  knocked 
'ase  of  flowers. 

the  water  was 
able-scarf  that 
ition  anew. 

are  ! "  she  ex- 
nd  Mrs.  May- 
r. 
le  child/'  she 

,  only  she  has 
Dg  selfish,  and 
;  and  now  she 
e  more  work." 
ignantly. 
of  you  to  say 
bad  better  not 
hoy  make  you 


Grace  felt  vexed  that  her  mother  should  take  Abie's 
part,  and  found  it  hard  to  regain  her  temper.  Her 
vexation  was  increased  soon  after  by  seeing  Ned  come 
down  the  street  with  Al  Smythe.  This  put  her  oat  of 
all  patience.  She  hated  to  see  the  growing  intimacy 
between  the  lads,  and  as  soon  as  her  brother  came  in 
she  began: 

*''I  don't  see  what  makes  you  go  with  that  Al 
Smythe,  Ned.    I  cannot  bear  him." 

*'  Al  is  a  good  fellow,"  replied  Ned,  carelessly. 

"  How  can  you  say  so,  Ned.  I  am  sure  he  is  any- 
thing but  good." 

"  "W^hy,  what  do  you  know  about  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  never  knew  any  good  of  him,  and  I  am 
sure  his  influence  over  you  is  not  for  good ;  you  are 
not  half  so  agreeable  as  you  used  to  be  before  you 
went  with  him." 

"  I  guess  I  am  as  agreeable  as  some  other  people 
not  verv  far  off.  If  you  find  me  disagreeable,  Al 
Smythe's  sister  doesn't.  She  asked  me  to  come  in 
and  see  them  often." 

"When  did  you  become  acquainted  with  Miss 
Smythe?  "  said  Grace,  icily. 

"Oh,  I  have  seen  her  when  I  have  been  in  at  Al's; 
real  sociable,  pleasant  girl  she  is  too.  Well,  I  guess 
I'd  better  be  off,  since  my  company  is  so  little  to  your 
liking."     And  Ned  went  away,  whistling  gayly. 

Poor  Grace,  it  had  seemed  bad  enough  that  Ned 
should  take  Al  Smythe  for  a  companion,  but  the 


PJ,<lll.H.aWWMIIWl« 


"^ 


^, 


78 


THREE  GIRUS. 


thought  of  Al  Smytbti's  sister  proving  an  attraction 
was  still  worse.  Qraoe  felt  quite  discourRged.  How 
many  mistakes  she  had  made  that  afternoon,  and  all 
because  she  had  allowed  herself  to  give  way  to  ill 
temper.  Then  she  felt  vexed  to  have  provoked  Ned, 
just  when  she  wanted  to  gain  an  influence  over  him. 
"  It  does  seem  hard/'  she  aaid  to  herself, "  to  be  >jallcd 
cross  and  disagreeable  when  I  have  been  p.  u^nsant  every 
day,  and  only  just  given  way  now." 

But  when  she  thought  it  over  that  evening,  she  saw 
that  slie  had  felt  too  satisfied  with  henskif  on  account 
of  an  amiability  -.yhich  was  largely  tks  ;->/  it  of  good 
health  ind.  buoyant  spiriti.  Whej  icffJ\>t.*Ion  had 
come,  she  had  yielded;  but  she  m^r  plaiii',  »ow,  that 
slie  had  no  excuse  for  yielding.,  mt'l  thn''  :,m  oould  not 
aiford  thus  to  give  way  if  eht  re&.i).v  ",  'r.uld  be  an  in- 
fluence for  good  in  her  hoiae.  So,  f<  r^  •  t  more  keenly 
alike  her  own  responsibility  and  h  r  i.\. ..  "?akne«>9,  she 
sought  anew  and  ntore  earneriil;  for  hoi;  ujm  on  high. 

A(?  for  Ned,  he  no  800^e^  i-iiuovertd  r!om  his  vexa- 
t.  i>  :ii.  a  he  began  to  feel  ashar^^d  of  himself.  "I 
wond^;,"  .:.  «,:'^  to  himself,  "  if  Gmee  thinks  I  leally 
care  f'^.  *^^5-.«»t.  L  /  Smythe;  why  a;  o  is  not  half  the 
girl  Giu  J  .,  i I  was  hateful  and  mean  in  m*  to  say 
what  I  did,  anyway.  I'm  sorry  now." — "  Why  don't 
you  tell  her  so  ?  "  conscience  whispered.  But  though 
Ned  knew  it  would  be  right,  he  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  do  that  just  now.  ■  He  contented  himself  with 
saying,  "  Perhaps  I  will,  some  time." 


)g  an  attraction 
»uraged.  How 
leraoon,  and  all 
give  way  to  ill 
provoked  Ned, 
lenoe  over  him. 
slf,"  to  be  .jailed 
n  p.  u:!U3aDt  every 

iveaing,  she  saw 
B>A£  on  account 
SiX?*?'  itof  good 
teiff)!>tv.*;on  had 
lairi),  BOW,  that 
a*  iiic  could  not 
t^'Uld  be  an  in- 
■  t;  more  keenly 
iv  s!rmkne<>s,  she 
I  iiomonhigh. 
from  his  vexa- 
f  himBelf.  "I 
i  thinks  I  really 
hi  not  half  the 
m  in  m?  to  say 
—"Why  don't 
i.  But  though 
not  bring  him- 
d  himaelf  with 


SUCCESS  XND   FAILURE. 


79 


So  the  golden  opportunity  was  allowed  to  pass,  and 
the  brother  and  sister  for  the  time  being  were  ferther 
apart  than  they  would  have  been  had  it  not  all  hap- 
pened. Grace  felt  this,  and  it  made  her  all  the  more 
regret  her  hasty  words,  and  seek  greater  patience  for 
the  future. 


""^N 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


FOREST  QinSS. 

GRACE  took  an  early  opportunity  to  persuade  her 
mother  to  spend  a  few  weeks  at  Forest  Glen. 

Mrs.  Maynard  had  been  very  anxious  for  Grace  to 
go  to  Bay  View,  and  to  that  end  had  planned  to  give 
up  her  own  summer  outing.  To  be  sure,  it  was  scarcely 
fashionable  not  to  go  away  in  the  hot  weather,  but 
then  she  could  tell  her  friends  that  she  really  preferred 
to  stay  at  home  rather  than  have  the  fatigue  of  travel. 
As  to  tha  rest  of  the  family — Aggie  could  visit  friends ; 
Ned  would  probably  want  to  go  fishing  with  some  of 
the  boys ;  ?nd  Mr.  Maynard  neither  cared  for  nor 
needed  holiuays,  at  least,  so  his  wife  supposed.  It  must 
be  confessed  she  was  disappointed  to  find  that  Grace 
held  so  fii-mly  to  her  decision  to  give  up  Bay  View. 
When  her  mother  had  ai^ued  with  her,  Grace's  only 
answer  liad  been,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  have  a  holiday 
at  the  expense  of  all  tae  others.  I  am  sure  that 
you  and  father  need  rest  and  change  more  than  I 
do."  ^ 

"But  you  are  young,"  the  fond  mother  said.    "  I 
want  you  to  have  all  the  enjoyment  you  can,  now." 

But  Grace  onl>  laughed,  and  bending  over  and 
kissing  her  mother,  said,  "  There  are  two  kinds  of  en- 
80 


FOKEST  OLEN. 


81 


^  to  persuade  her 
t  Forest  Glen, 
ous  for  Grace  to 
planned  to  give 
•e,  it  was  scarcely 
lot  weather,  but 
e  really  preferred 
fatigue  of  travel, 
uld  visit  friends  j 
ag  with  some  of 
:  cared  for  nor 
ipposed.  It  must 
find  that  Grace 
B  up  Bay  View, 
er,  Grace's  only 
have  a  holiday 
I  am  sure  that 
je  more  than  I 

jther  said.    "  I 
ju  can,  now." 
iding  over  and 
:wo  kinds  of  en- 


joy meet,  mother  dear,  and  I  mean  to  have  the  best 
kind — the  kind  that  will  Inst." 

Certainly  Graai  did  not  fail  to  have  the  truest  en- 
joyment in  the  quiet,  country  hamlet  where  the  next 
two  months  w?.re  sjient.  It  was  a  real  pleasure  to  see 
the  worried  expression  fade  away  from  her  mother's 
face,  and  to  find  that  Aggie,  hitherto  pale  aud  deliv'site, 
was  becoming  sun-burned  and  hearty. 

Ned  had  not  wished  to  come  with  them.  "It 
would  be  so  dull,"  he  said.  However,  as  he  could 
not  gain  his  father's  |)ermission  to  join  a  fishing 
party,  he  concluded  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but 
go  with  his  mother  «ind  sisteni,  and  find  what  enjoy- 
ment he  ooiild  at  Forest  Glen. 

At  first,  he  could  scarcely  find  sufficient  adjectives  to 
es»)re98  his  disgust  for  the  "  polsy  little  plane,'  :e 
called  it.  Bui  when  he  found  there  was  capital  iibiiing 
in  the  lake,  and  that  Mr.  Fienton  owned  a  boat,  and 
ha  oould  hftve  the  use  of  it  whenever  he  wished,  he 
concluded  Forest  Glen  was  not  such  a  bad  place  after 
all. 

What  Gnice'e  impressions  of  the  place  were  can 
best  be  told  in  her  own  words,  just  as  she  wrote  them 
to  Ethel : 

Forest  Glen  is  the  quietest  plaol  I  ever  saw,  and 
one  of  the  loveliest  txto.  It  is  only  a  little  hamlet, 
and  the  houses  ai«  quite  scattered.  The  farmhouse 
where  we  are  staying  is  just  detlightful.  It  is  an  old 
house,  large  and  roomy,  with  an  ample  verauda  on  one 


%. 


■■^.  ......^j^-^^^A.^MMiMMmAM 


r^Hl 


■--^1 


82 


THREE  OIBL8. 


side.  Mrs.  Benton  is  just  as  kind  as  she  can  be  ;  she 
has  taken  quite  a  liking  to  Ned,  who  docs  full  justice 
to  her  cooking  I 

We  spend  most  of  our  time  out  of  doors.  There 
is  a  large,  old  tree  a  short  distance  from  the  house, 
with  a  seat  up  among  the  branches.  It  is  just  lovely 
to  take  one's  book  or  work  there,  and  while  away  the 
summer  afternoons. 

I  have  found  something  to  do  in  this  out-of-the- 
way  place.  Here  I  have  found  my  first  music  pupil, 
Little  Margie,  Mr?.  Benton's  ten-year-old  daughter. 
There  is  an  organ  here  which  belongs  to  Mrs.  Benton's 
niece,  who  is  now  away  in  the  city.  Mai^ie  is  very 
fond  of  music,  and  proves  quite  an  apt  pupil,  &ud  her 
father  says  if  she  learns  to  play  nicely  he  will  buy  her 
an  organ. 

You  would  laugh  to  see  me  trying  to  teach  read- 
ing to  Joe,  a  little  orphan  boy  employetl  on  the  farm. 
I  gave  him  some  children's  pictui-e  books  to  look  at, 
but  found  he  could  not  read,  and  I  have  since  then  been 
trying  to  instruct  him.  What  success  I  shall  have  I 
cannot  yei  tell. 

They  have  a  Sunday-school  here.  I  went  to  it 
the  first  Sunday  after  my  arrival.  It  is  kept  up  by 
Miss  Alice  Gray,  the  school-teacher  here.  She  is  a 
sweet,  gentle  girl,  and  I  love  her  already.  This  little 
school  seems  so  different  to  ours  at  home.  There  are 
only  three  classes  in  it,  and  sometimes  Miss  Gray  has 
had  to  teach  them  all  herself.  I  have  undertaken  the 
infant  class.  I  love  the  little  ones  dearly,  and  know 
I  shall  miss  them  when  I  go  back  to  town  again. 

But  Grace  found  something  else  to  do,  of  which  she 
said  nothing  to  Ethel.  Grace  was  now  Ned's  constant 


.:ii.1 


as  she  can  be ;  she 
lo  docs  full  justice 


of  doors.    There 

e  from  the  house, 

It  is  just  lovely 

id  while  away  the 

n  this  out-of-the- 
iirst  music  pupil, 
y^ear-old  daughter, 
rs  to  Mrs.  Benton's 
Margie  is  very 
apt  pupil,  hnd  her 
ily  he  will  buy  her 

ng  to  teach  read- 
loyed  on  the  farm, 
books  to  look  at, 
ave  since  then  been 
ess  I  shall  have  I 

re.  I  went  to  it 
It  is  kept  up  by 
r  here.  She  is  a 
ready.  This  little 
home.  There  are 
les  Miss  Gray  has 
ive  undertaken  the 
dearly,  and  know 
0  town  again. 

to  do,  of  which  she 
ow  Ned's  constant 


FOREST   OLEX. 


88 


companion,  and  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  thus 
afforded  of  coming  to  know  and  understand  him  better. 
They  made  many  excursions  together.  One  day,  when 
on  one  of  these  excursions,  Ned  told  his  sister  all  his 
troubles :  How  he  could  not  like  Latin  and  Greek, 
and  how  much  he  wished  to  go  into  business.  And 
Grace  began  to  think  seriously  whether  it  might  not 
be  better  for  him  to  do  so,  and  promised  to  speak  to 
their  father  about  it. 

Mr.  Maynard  occasionally  came  out  to  Foi  oat  Glen 
to  spend  a  Sunday  with  his  family.  At  such  times 
Grace  besi^ed  him  with  earnest  requests  to  stay  a 
whole  week  with  them.  He  always  declared,  however, 
that  he  could  not  leave  his  business.  It  was  therefore 
a  great  surprise  to  all  when,  one  Tuesday,  Mr.  May- 
nard walked  in,  valise  iu  hand,  and  announced  that 
he  had  come  to  stay  a  whole  week. 

This  filled  Grace's  cup  of  happiness  to  overflowing. 
Mr.  Maynard  left  all  care  behind  him,  and  as  fully 
enjoyed  the  various  excursions  as  did  the  young  people. 
Grace  had  scarcely  imagined  that  her  father  could  un- 
bend so  much.  She  did  not  find  an  opportunity  to 
fulfill  her  promise  to  Ned  till  near  the  close  of  Mr. 
Mayuard's  stay ;  then,  one  evening,  she  asked  her 
father  to  take  a  walk  to  the  top  of  some  rocks,  not  far 
from  the  farmhouse,  to  see  the  sunset.  The  sunset, 
however,  was  only  a  secondary  consideration  with  Grace 
that  evening ;  her  real  desire  being  to  have  a  talk  with 
her  father  about  Ned.    So,  as  they  watched  the  sun 


'■XV 


,M  < 


.Aiksdm&hkMm.^^jJ^hS 


\J 


84 


THREE  aiBua. 


sink  behind  the  hills  in  a  golden  splendor  which 
dceiiened  into  crimson,  they  tallced  it  all  over.  Qraoe 
told  of  Ned's  aversion  to  college  and  his  longing  to 
enter  business  life ;  Mr.  Maynard  spoke  fully  of  his 
ambitions  tor  his  son,  and  his  desire  that  he  might  en- 
joy every  advantage.  However,  he  promised  Qraoe 
to  think  over  the  matter,  and  give  it  hia  favorable 
consideration. 

When  Grace  tx)ld  her  brother  this  he  was  well 
pleased,  and  said,  "  If  father  would  only  try  me,  he 
would  find  I  would  do  well." 

So  as  the  days  drifted  by,  Grace  hoped  and  felt  that 
good  was  being  done. 


1  splendor  which 
it  all  over.  Grace 
id  his  longing  to 
spoke  fully  of  his 
I  that  he  might  en- 
e  promiocd  Qi-aoo 
9  it  liie  favorable 

this  he  was  well 
d  only  try  me,  he 

Loped  and  felt  that 


CHAPTER  IX. 


YOUNO   HOlSEKEfiPEBS. 


WHILE  Grace  was  rusticating  at  Forest  Glen, 
Ethel  was  having  a  short  experience  of  house- 
keeping. 

In  the  early  part  of  July,  Mrs.  Gladwyn  reci'l  v^d 
a  pressing  invitation  from  a  very  dear  friend  nud 
former  schoolmate  to  spend  a  fortnight  with  her. 

"  You  had  better  go,"  said  Mr.  Gladwyn.  **  There 
is  no  reason  now  why  you  cannot  leave." 

"  Why,  mother,  you  must  go,  that's  all,"  said  Ethel. 
"  Don't  you  suppose  that  Millie  and  I  art>  able  to  keep 
house  and  look  ailer  the  children  while  y«)U  are  away 
for  a  while?" 

So  all  objections  being  at  last  overruled,  Mrs.  Glad- 
wyn consented  to  go,  and  her  elder  daughters  busied 
themselves  helping  her  to  get  ready.  It  was  such  an 
unusual  thing  fur  Mra.  Gladwyn  to  take  a  holiday 
without  having  any  of  the  children  with  her,  that  it 
seemed  quite  an  important  event  to  her  family. 

At  last  the  day  came ;  the  coach  was  at  the  door,  and 
with  many  parting  charges  Mrs.  Gladwyn  left.  The 
girls  returned  to  their  household  duties  with  a  new, 
strange  feeling  of  importance  and  responsibility. 
Perhaps  it  might  be  said   that   these  feelings  were 

85 


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86 


THREE  GIRIJ9. 


divided  between  them ;  Millie  feeling  the  importance, 
and  Ethel  the  responsibility.  Millie  threw  herself 
into  the  work  with  energy. 

"  Just  think  how  early  we  shall  get  through  this 
morning,  Ethel,"  she  said,  as  she  flew  around  putting 
things  in  order.  "  I  think  I  will  always  get  up  early 
in  this  hot  weather." 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  everything  was  done,  and 
tho  girls  sat  down  to  rest  awhile. 

"  I  say,  Ethel,"  exclaimed  Millie,  "  let  us  have  an 
outing  to-day.  The  children  would  enjoy  it,  and  Ann 
could  go  with  as.  Ann  hasn't  much  to  do,  this  being 
Thursday." 

"  It  would  be  pleasant,"  said  Ethel ;  "  but  where 
can  we  go  ?  It  must  be  some  place  near.  How  would 
Marlow  Heights  do  ?  " 

"  Just  the  very  place  I  was  thinking  of." 

"  Very  well ;  if  we  are  going,  we  had  better  begin 
to  get  ready."  said  Ethel.  "  We  ought  to  start  as 
soon  as  possible.  Ann  can  get  the  lunch  ready,  and 
we  will  see  to  the  children." 

Ann  was  by  no  means  reluctant  to  leave  the  house 
for  a  day  in  the  open  air,  and  in  a  surprisingly  short 
time  she  had  packed  up  a  nice  lunch  and  was  all  dressed 
ready  to  go. 

Marlow  Heights  lay  just  beyond  the  outskirts  of 
Melvin.  A  short,  steep  climb  brougl  one  to  a  grassy 
bit  of  table-land,  bearing  clumps  of  ferns,  and  here 
and  there  a  group  of  fir  trees  making  a  pleasant  shade. 


the  importance, 
J  threw  herself 

et  through  this 

around  putting 

ays  get  up  early 

ig  was  done,  and 

'  let  us  have  an 
njoy  it,  and  Ann 
to  do,  this  being 

lel ;  "  but  where 
»ar.   How  would 

ig  of." 

had  better  begin 
ight  to  start  as 
unch  ready,  and 

leave  the  house 
irprisingly  short 
d  was  all  dressed 

the  outskirts  of 
L  one  to  a  grassy 
ferns,  and  here 
a  pleasant  shade. 


-'!• 


Mmi 


Three  Girls  and  Their  Motto. 


Page  87. 


H" 


VOUNG   UOU8EKBEPER3. 

There  was  always  a  breeze  there  that  repaid  one  for 
the  climb,  as  well  as  a  fine  view  of  the  surrounding 
country.  Ethel  and  Millie  had  been  there  often,  and 
knew  just  the  place  from  which  the  best  view  could 
be  obtained.  It  was  a  craggy  piece  of  rock  at  the 
eastern  end  of  the  Heights,  from  which  you  could  look 
down  a  steep  slope  on  the  dusty  streets  and  houses 
below ;  or  gazing  farther  out,  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
distant  ocean,  so  fisir  away  that  some  people  could  nut 
distinguish  it  from  the  blue  sky.  The  girls  called  this 
rock,  "  Lookout  Point." 

Up  the  steep,  narrow  path  they  went,  in  single  file. 
Once  at  the  top,  all  began  to  enjoy  themselves  in  their 
own  way.  Baby  Clarence  shouted  with  glee  as  he 
chased  the  bright  butterflies.  Bessie  and  George  set 
to  work  to  gather  wild  flowers  and  ferns  for  Ann. 

"  Come,  Millie,  let  us  see  if  *  Lookout  Point '  is 
just  the  same,"  said  Ethel ;  and  away  went  the  two 
girls  to  their  favorite  resort  to  gaze  on  a  landscape 
that,  though  always  the  same,  was  always  new. 

Just  now  town  and  country  lay  spread  out  beneath 
them  bathed  in  shimmering  light.  The  little  bit  of 
ocean  in  the  distance  shone  like  silver  in  the  sun's  rays. 
The  girls  found  a  shady  nook,  and  sat  down  to  take  in 
the  scenery,  spread  out  like  a  panorama  before  them, 
finding  real  pleasure  in  pointing  out  to  one  another,  as 
they  had  often  done  before,  places  that  they  knew. 

"  There  is  Mrs.  Pelhain's  house;  we  can  look  right 
down  on  it,"  said  Millie.    "  Do  you  know  that  she 


fuiiiiiniiiipiiW-..^ 3'"* 


88 


THREE  GIRLS. 


told  me  one  day  when  I  was  there  that  she  had  never 
once  been  on  these  Heights?  And  she  lives  so  near 
too  I  -She  said, '  she  had  no  time.'  I  pity  that  poor, 
little  girl  of  hers  ;  she  is  not  allowed  to  stir  off  the 
door  step  for  fear  she  will  get  dirty.  One  day  last 
autumn,  when  you  were  away,  Ann  and  I  were  com- 
ing up  here  with  Bessie  and  Greorgie.  I  asked  Mrs. 
Pelham  if  Bella  could  come  too.  You  never  saw  a 
more  delighted  child  when  ehe  got  up  here.  She 
seemed  like  one  who  had  entered  a  new  world.  Is  it 
not  a  pity  that  people  should  miss  so  much  beauty?" 

"  I  suppose  Mrs.  Pelham  is  a  very  busy  woman," 
said  Ethel. 

"  She  makes  herself  busy ;  she  could  take  time,  if 
she  chose  to  let  some  things  go.  I  think  I  would 
come  here  sometimes,  if  I  were  in  her  place,  if  only 
for  the  salse  of  the  child." 

Just  then  they  heard  Harry  calling  them ;  and  went 
back  to  have  tlieir  lunch,  which  they  all  enjoye«l  thor- 
oughly. 

Then  when  the  afternoon  shadows  b^;an  to  lengthen, 
with  Harry  for  a  guide,  they  wandered  over  the 
Heights,  exploring  every  nook  and  comer.  Before 
six  o'clock  they  turned  their  steps  homeward,  as  their 
father  returned  from  business  at  that  hour,  and  it  would 
not  do  to  keep  him  waiting  for  his  dinner. 

They  had  enjoyed  the  day  so  much  that  they  all 
thought  they  would  like  to  have  such  an  outing  every 
week  through  the  remainder  of  the  summer. 


YOUNG   HOUSEKEEPERS. 


89 


t  she  had  never 
e  lives  so  near 

pity  that  poor, 

to  stir  off  the 

One  day  last 

ad  I  weie  com- 

I  asked  Mrs. 
u  never  saw  a 
up  here.  She 
7  world.  Is  it 
auch  beauty?" 

busy  woman," 

I  take  time,  if 
hink  I  would 

place,  if  only 

hem;  and  went 

II  enjoye«l  thor- 

;an  to  lengthen, 
ered  over  the 
iomer.  Before 
leward,  as  their 
ir,  and  it  would 
ner. 

1  that  they  all 
in  outing  every 
imer. 


The  next  morning  Ethel  brought  nut  the  mending 
basket.  Now  Lt  us  begin  the  meudiag,  and  we  can 
finish  it  all  to-day." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Millie.  It  was  easy  to  see, 
however,  that  she  was  not  very  enthusiastic  about  it. 
"  I  do  hate  darning  and  patching,"  she  said,  after 
a  while ;  "  I  always  feel  as  though  I  would  like  to  buy 
new  things  as  soon  as  everything  begins  to  wear  out." 

"It's  not  the  pleasantest  thing  in  the  world  to 
mend,"  said  Ethel.  "  But  it  is  a  good  thing  to  have 
to  do  things  we  do  not  like  to  do,  sometimes." 

"  It's  not  a  good  thing  for  me,  I  am  sure,  for  it 
makes  me  cross,  edpecially  on  hot  days  like  these,  when 
the  needle  gets  so  sticky." 

"Put  it  through  the  emery  cushion,"  suggested 
Ethel,  handing  one  over  as  she  spoke. 

Millie  took  it,  and  stabbed  the  needle  vigorously 
through  it,  then  set  to  work  again.  "The  needle 
works  quite  easily  now,"  she  exclaimed.  All  went 
well  for  a  few  moments,  then  the  thread  knotted,  and 
Millie,  in  a  fit  of  impatience,  tried  to  drag  it  through, 
with  the  result  that  the  rent  she  was  trying  to  mend 
was  made  larger.  This  was  enough  to  aggravate  any- 
body;  however,  it  aroused  in  Millie  the  determination 
to  be  revenged  on  the  hole  by  mending  it  in  spite  of 
itself,  as  she  declared.  •  It  was  Avith  quite  an  air  of 
triumph  that  at  last  she  exclaimed : 

"  There,  that's  done ;  now,  Ethel,  what  next  can 
you  give  me  to  do." 


r 


90 


THB££  aiBLS. 


"  Here  is  an  apron  of  Bessie's ;  the  edging  is  torn, 
and  there  is  a  button  oiF;  you  can  try  that." 

Millie  sewed  on  the  button,  and  then  began  at 
the  edging;  but  soon  she  dropped  her  work,  and  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Do  see  that  little  bird  down  in  the  yard ;  it  has 
fallen  from  the  nest.  I  must  go  down  and  see  it." 
Away  she  went. 

Ethel  sighetl ;  Millie  had  done  so  little  in  the  hour 
they  had  been  at  work.  She  saw  it  was  of  but  little 
use  to  depend  on  her. 

Meanwhile,  Millie,  down  in  the  yard,  chirruped 
away  to  the  Utile  bird,  and  brought  it  crumbs.  I  can- 
not say,  however,  that  the  bird  appreciated  her  kind 
intentions.  On  the  contrary,  it  seemed  quite  frightened. 

Ethel  worked  away  with  a  growing  impatience  in 
her  heart.  She  began  to  feel  quite  cross  with  Millie 
for  leaving  her  to  do  the  sewing  alone. 

"  Oh,  look,  Ethel,  see  the  little  thing  try  to  fly," 
called  >Iillie,  from  below. 

"  Well,  Millie,  you  may  have  time  to  look  at  it,  I 
have  not,"  said  Ethel,  with  rather  more  emphasis  on 
the  "  you  "  and  "  I "  than  was  necessary. 

**  Why  don't  you  leave  the  mending,  and  come 
down  here  for  a  while,"  her  sister  said.  "  You  needn't 
fret  about  the  work.  I'll  help  you  by-aud-by ;  any- 
way, if  we  do  not  finish  it  to-day,  we  can  finish  it  to- 
morrow." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  leave  any  to  do  to-morrow,  I 


e  edging  is  torn, 
^  that." 

i  then  began  at 
er  work,  and  ex- 

the  yard ;  it  has 
wn  and  see  it." 

little  in  the  hour 
nras  of  but  little 

yard,  chirruped 
;  crumbs.  I  oan- 
eciated  her  kind 

quite  frightened, 
ig  impatience  in 
3ross  with  Millie 
le. 
hing  try  to  fly," 

!  to  look  at  it,  I 
lore  emphasis  on 
lary. 

iding,  and  come 
i.  "  You  needn't 
by-aud-by;  any- 
!  can  finish  it  to- 
do  to-morrow,  I 


YOUNG    HOnSEKEEPERS. 


91 


shall  do  it  to-day,  if  I  have  to  put  in  every  stitch  my- 
self." And  Ethel  tnapped  off  another  needleful  of 
thread  energetically. 

"  Very  well,  suit  yourself,"  returned  Millie,  with 
exas^ierating  coolness. 

Ethel  shut  her  lips  tightly ;  she  felt  very  cross  now. 

The  children  had  come  from  play,  and  had  gathered 
around  Millie,  watohiuj;  every  movement  of  the  little 
bird  with  the  greatest  interest.  Then  Ann  came  out, 
and  took  it  in  her  hand,  and  baby  Clarence  laughed 
and  clapped  his  hands. 

«•  See,  Ethel,  pitty  birdie,"  he  called.  Ethel  looked 
down ;  she  could  not  refuse  little  Clarence  anything, 
and  the  bright  smile  on  the  baby's  face  brought  an 
answering  smile  to  her  own. 

"  Yes,  darling,"  sha  said.  "  I  see."  And  as  she 
watched  the  happy,  interested  group,  her  impatient 
thoughts  began  to  give  way  to  more  kindly  ones. 

After  all,  Millie  was  still  a  child  in  many  ways, 
ready  enough  with  offers  of  help,  but  soon  wearying  of 
her  helf-imposcd  tasks;  Ethel  realized  that  she  had  ex- 
pected too  much  of  her  j  she  must  take  her  as  she 
was,  not  as  she  might  be,  and  not  count  too  much  on 
her  help. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  thought,  "  if  I  could  ever  be  as 
patient  and  wise  as- mother  is  in  training  her  children." 

"Have  you  finished  everything?  Why  did  you 
not  leave  something  for  me  to  do  ?  "  said  Millie,  when 
about  half  en  hour  later  she  came  upstairs. 


■fW!" 


^ 


92 


THREE  OIRL8. 


"  I  have  left  your  own  things  for  you  to  do,  Millie.  I 
expect  you  will  find  them  enough  ;  and  if  you  take 
my  advice,  you  will  attend  to  them  to-day." 

"Perhaps  I  will;  anyway,  I'll  see  to  them  all 
right." 

But  Millie  was  one  of  those  who  put  things  off.  In 
tho  afternoon  she  went  to  see  Fay  Wilton,  a  young 
friend.  When  she  came  home,  she  was  too  tired  to 
sew ;  besides,  she  had  brought  buck  with  her  a  book, 
lent  her  by  her  friend,  and  she  was  very  anxious  to 
begin  the  reading  of  it.  The  book  proved  so  interest- 
ing that  she  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  evening  upon 
it.  But  then,  she  argued  with  herself  that  she  had 
all  the  next  day  in  which  to  do  her  work,  and  besides, 
she  meant  to  get  up  so  early  that  everything  she  had 
to  do  would  be  finished  by  breakfast  time.  With 
these  thoughts  she  fell  asleep,  and  knew  nothing  more 
until  aroused  by  Ethel  calling  : 

"  Come,  Millie,  get  up ;  it  is  seven  o'clock." 

Millie  opened  her  eyes,  dreamily.  "  Seven  o'clock  I 
dear  me,  how  provoking  !  "  She  reasoned,  "  I  cannot 
get  up  early  now,  and  I  may  as  well  take, another 
little  nap."  So  she  closed  her  eyes  again,  with  the 
result  that  she  was  late  for  breakfast. 

Ethel,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been  awake  and  up 
early,  and  had  planned  out  quite  an  amount  of  work 
for  the  day.  There  was  a  little  dress  which  had  been 
cut  out  for  Clarence  a  week  before,  and  had  been  laid 
aside  when  their  mother  began  to  get  ready  to  go  away. 


to  do,  Millie.  I 
.nd  if  you  take 
-day." 
le  to  them   all 

t  things  off.  In 
Wilton,  a  young 
faa  too  tired  to 
nth  her  a  book, 
very  anxious  to 
oved  80  interest- 
:he  evening  upon 
f  that  she  had 
)rk,  and  besides, 
'ything  she  had 
i8t  time.  With 
}w  nothing  more 

o'clock." 
"  Seven  o'clock ! 
oned,  "  I  cannot 
all  take, another 
again,  with  the 

I  awake  and  up 
imount  of  work 
which  had  been 
lid  had  been  laid 
•eady  to  go  away. 


YOUNQ   IIOUMEKKEFKRS. 


93 


"  I  will  make  that  to-day,"  thought  Ethel.  "  It  will 
be  a  good  thing  to  get  it  out  of  the  way ;  the  first  of  the 
week  is  always  a  busy  time." 

She  generally  went  to  see  Aunt  Margaret  on  Satur- 
day afternoons,  but  she  had  no  intention  of  leaving 
that  out  of  her  programme  ;  the  dress  was  to  be  finished 
by  the  middle  af  the  afternoon,  giving  her  ample  time 
for  her  Saturday  visit,  as  well  as  for  the  study  of  her 
Sunday-school  lesson. 

Ethel  realized  that  she  could  not  do  what  she  had 
laid  out  for  the  day,  unless  she  could  keep  steadily  on 
without  interruption ;  so  she  planned  out  work  for 
others,  as  well  as  herself.  Ann,  of  ooui'se,  could  attend 
to  the  kitchen  work  and  the  cooking,  and  Millie  would 
be  able  easily  to  do  tht.  other  housework,  and  look 
after  the  children,  leaving  Ethel  undisturbed  at  her 
sewing.  It  is  one  thing  to  plan  for  one's  self— quite 
another  to  plan  what  others  shall  do,  and  Ethel  found 
this  out  before  the  day  was  over.  As  usual,  she  had 
counted  too  much  on  the  assistance  of  Millie,  who 
proved  au  uncertain  factor  in  working  out  the  problem 
of  the  day. 

For  a  time,  things  seemed  to  go  on  well.  Ethel  put 
together  the  dress,  ti-ied  it  on,  and  fitted  it  as  well  as 
she  could  on  such  a  restless  little  mortal  as  Clarence. 

Then  just  as  she  was  getting  on  nicely  with  her 
work,  tiiere  came  a  ring  at  the  door,  and  shortly  Ann 
appeared  with  word  that  Mrs.  Bennison  was  down- 
stairs.   Ethel  looked  aghast.    Of  all  persons  in  the 


mmmmmmmm 


94 


THRRK  aiRtJB. 


world,  Mrs.  Benni«)n  was  the  last  one  she  wttiitotl  to 
800  on  ft  busy  morning,  for  the  good  old  lady  always 
made  a  prolonged  vinit. 

"  Dear  mo,  Saturday  morning  of  all  others  !"  sjiid 
Ethel,  with  a  despairing  glance  at  Ann,  who  well 
aware  of  Mrs.  Benninon's  i)eculiaritic8,  giggled,  then 
asked : 

"  Shall  I  say  you  are  engaged  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  will  be  down  in  a  moment,  Ann,"  re- 
plied Ethel,  her  momentary  feeling  of  vexation  pass- 
ing away,  aa  she  thought  how  often  her  mother  had 
been  similarly  interrupted,  and  how  kindly  and  pa- 
tiently she  always  listened  to  the  oft>told  tale  of  aches 
and  ailments.  She  reraeralKsred  too,  how  often  her 
mother  had  said  :  "  What  seems  an  interruption  may 
be  more  truly  my  work  for  the  time  than  what  I  am 
obliged  to  lay  aside." 

With  these  thoughts  in  her  mind,  Ethel  was  able  to 
give  a  real  kindly  greeting  to  the  old  lady.  When 
Mrs.  Bennison  said  she  had  been  a  long  distance  to  see 
some  one  on  busineas,  and  feeling  tired  had  come  in  to 
rest  for  a  while,  Ethel  felt  her  sympathies  aroused ; 
and  remembering  what  a  warm  day  it  was,  and  recol- 
lecting too  that  her  visitor  was  fond  of  milk,  she  in- 
sisted on  going  and  getting  some.  It  did  lier  heart 
good  to  see  how  thoroughly  the  old  lady  enjoyed  the 
glass  of  milk  and  the  little  seed-oakca  that  she  brought 
for  her. 
"  I  feel  so  refreshed,"  said  Mrs.  Bennison,  when  at 


10  she  wanted  to 
old  liuly  always 

ill  othcrn  ! "  snid 

Ann,  who    woU 

ics,  giK:Kl('<l7  then 


[)ment,  Ann,"  re- 

)f  vexntion  pass- 
her  mother  had 
kindly  and  pa- 

tuld  talc  of  achoB 
how  often   her 

interruption  may 
than  what  I  am 

Ethel  was  able  to 

old  lady.     When 

mg  distance  to  see 

3d  had  come  in  to 

ipathies  aroused ; 

it  was,  and  recol- 

of  milk,  she  in- 

It  did  her  heart 

lady  enjoyed  the 

s  that  she  brought 

Scnnison,  when  at 


YOUNG   IIOUHKKEKPKRS. 


06 


last  she  rose  to  go.  "  Thank  you  very  much,  dear, 
for  your  kindness."  Then  taking  both  of  Ethi^l's 
hands  in  her  own,  and  looking  lovingly  into  the  brown 
eycH  that  met  hers,  she  adde<l,  "  You  have  Iwgun  to 
■ervo  the  King  in  youth,  child.  Keep  on.  His  is  a 
gocKl  service." 

And  Ethel,  looking  after  the  bent  figure  that  went 
■lowly  away  from  the  door,  felt  unworthy  to  have  had 
the  privilege  of  ministering  to  this  true  child  of  the 
King. 

When  she  went  back  to  pick  up  the  work  she  had 
laid  down  half  an  hour  before,  Ethel  began  to  think 
how  very  acceptable  it  would  be  if  Millie  would  lend 
a  hand  for  a  little  while.  But  where  could  Millie  bo, 
and  what  could  she  be  doing?  She  had  not  been  seen 
nor  heard  from  for  some  time. 

"  Millie,  Millie,"  called  Ethel. 

"  Yes,"  the  answer  came,  somewhat  slowly. 

"  The  parlor  is  not  dusted  yet." 

"  Well,  I  am  coming,  just  in  a  minute." 

Ethel  knew  something  of  what  Millie's  minutes 
were,  so  she  concluded  it  would  be  l)etter  to  go  up  to 
her  room,  and  see  what  she  was  doing. 

It  wus  just  as  she  suspected.  Millie  was  curled  up 
in  an  easy  chair,  reading  a  book. 

"  Millie  !"  said  Ethel,  reproaci^fuUy.  "  I  thought 
vou  were  going  to  help  me  so  much  this  morning?" 

"  So  I  am,"  exclaimed  Millie,  jumping  up  hastily. 
"  You  know  this  is  the  book  Fay  lent  me  yesterday. 


ri 


!  ■  ■   { 


I 


96 


THBEE  GIRLS. 


m 


I  picked  it  up,  and  only  meant  to  look  into  it  for  a 
minute  ;  and  then  I  could  not  lay  it  down  till  I  had 
finished  it." 

"  You  had  better  not  have  taken  it  up  till  your  work 
was  done.  It  Avould  have  been  all  the  better  for 
keeping." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  I  will  be  so  quick  now  that  I 
will  quite  make  up  for  lost  time.  It  will  not  take  me 
long  to  dust  the  parlor." 

"  But  this  room  is  not  put  to  rights  yet." 

"  Oh,  rU  do  that  afterward.  I'll  not  be  long. 
You'll  see." 

It  would  have  seemed  unkind  to  say  anything  more 
when  Millie  was  so  anxious  to  make  amends ;  so  Ethel 
did  not  say  what  she  had  learned  from  her  own  experi- 
ence, that  there  is  always  a  best  time  in  which  to  do 
things,  which  one  must  improve  if  she  would  not  be 
in  a  perpetual  hurry.  And  Millie  went  off,  duster  in 
hand,  humming  a  merry  little  air,  as  she  flitted  about 
her  work. 

As  to  Ethel,  she  seemed  doomed  to  interruptions. 
First,  Georgie  came  wanting  a  piece  of  paper  and  a 
pencil.  His  sister  went  and  fouud  them  for  him, 
feeling  inwardly  impatient  at  the  hindrance. 

Then  Clarence  came  up,  crying  most  dismally ;  he 
had  fallen  doAvn  and  scratched  his  arm,  and  soiled 
his  dress.  Then  he  had  rubbed  his  tearful  eyes  with 
his  dirty  liitle  hands,  making  streaks  all  down  his 
cheeks.    Altogether,  he  presented  a  doleful  appearance. 


look  into  it  for  a 
t  down  till  I  had 

t  up  till  your  work 
ill  the  better  for 

quick  now  that  I 
[t  will  not  take  me 


its  yet." 
I'll  not  be 


long. 


say  anything  more 
I  amends ;  so  Ethel 
im  her  own  experi- 
le  in  which  to  do 
she  would  not  be 
went  off,  duster  in 
IS  she  flitted  about 

1  to  interruptions, 
e  of  paper  and  a 
r1  them  for  him, 
indrance. 

nost  dismally;  he 
is  arm,  and  soiled 
I  tearful  eyes  with 
saks  all  down  his 
doleful  appearance. 


"  What  a  dreadful  state  you  are  in  !  What  made 
you  fall  down?  "  exclaimed  Ethel,  rather  unsympathet- 
ically. 

Yes,  I  touldn't  help  it.    Oo  wash  me." 

"  I  am  too  busy  ;  Millie  will." 

"  Millie  busy  too,  and  Ann  busy,"  sobbed  Clarence. 

Just  then  Georgie  appeared,  and  Ethel  sent  him  to 
call  Millie.  Two  or  three  minutes  passed  before 
Millie  came,  which  did  not  improve  Ethel's  temper. 
*'  I  think  you  might  at  least  lot>k  after  the  children 
when  you  know  I  am  so  busy,"  she  complained. 

"  Ann  was  very  busy,  and  I  offered  to  whip  the 
whites  of  the  eggs  for  the  top  of  the  pp  iding.  I  was 
doing  that  when  Clarence  came  in,  and  he  would  not 
stay  with  me,  but  must  go  and  find  you." 

"  Well,  do  what  you  can  with  him  now.  Georgie 
must  be  washed  too,  before  dinner." 

"  You  take  the  easiest  part,  sitting  here  in  the  cool, 
while  I  have  to  run  around  and  do  the  work,"  said 
Millie,  fretfully. 

'•  If  you  think  this  is  easier,  I  am  sure  you  are  wel- 
come to  do  it,"  returned  Ethel.  "  Don't,  Clarence," 
she  exclaimed,  rather  impatiently,  as  the  little  fellow 
took  hold  of  some  embroidery. 

"  What  made  you  undertake  that  dress  on  Satur- 
day?" said  Millie.  "  It  is  not  wanted  for  to-morrow. 
I  am  sure  I  would  put  it  away,  if  it  made  me  so  cross 
as  it  does  you." 

Truth  is  not  always  acceptable.     It  was  true  that 

Q 


>'Mi\ 


98 


THREE  GIRLS. 


it  was  unnecessary  that  the  dress  should  be  finished  on 
that  day  ;  it  was  also  true  that  Ethel  was  soraewhat 
cross.  But  it  was  quite  unwelcome  to  her  to  have 
these  facts  suggeste  1. 

"  You  know,  Millie,  as  well  as  I  do,"  she  said, "  that 
the  first  of  the  week  is  a  busy  time ;  Clarence  needs 
the  dress  as  soon  as  he  can  have  it.  As  to  being 
cross— I  don't  think  I  am  cross." 

The  afternoon  proved  no  better  than  the  morning, 
Millie  had  quite  forgotten  the  untidy  bedroom ;  and 
when  she  called  it  to  mind,  she  felt  hot  and  tired,  and 
complained  of  her  head  aching.  So  Ethel  laid  aside 
her  work  and  helped  her.  Then  when  Millie  gave 
the  children  their  Saturday  bath,  she  had  trouble  with 
them,  and  Ethel  was  obliged  to  go  and  settle  matters. 
It  was  no  wonder  that  as  she  went  back  to  her  sewing 
she  felt  tired  and  nervous.  In  her  haste,  she  sewed  a 
sleeve  wrongly,  and  had  to  rip  it  out ;  but  only  the 
more  firmly  did  she  resolve  that  the  dress  should  be 
finished  that  night. 

Fay  Wilton  came  in  after  tea,  and  a  game  of  cro- 
quet was  proposed. 

<'  Come,  Ethel,  we  want  you  to  make  up  a  side," 
said  Harry. 

"  I  am  really  too  busy  ;  can't  you  get  Percy  White 
to  ct)me  over  and  play  ?  " 
"  Percy  is  away." 
"  Well,  Bessie  could  take  a  ball." 
"  Oh,  Bessie  is  no  good  as  a  player,"  returned  Harry, 


tiild  be  f.niBlied  on 
ihel  was  somewhat 
le  to  her  to  liave 

lo,"  she  said, "  that 
e ;  Clarence  needs 
it.      As  to    being 

than  the  morning, 
idy  bedroom ;  and 
hot  and  tired,  and 

0  Ethel  laid  aside 
when  Millie  gave 

le  had  trouble  with 
and  settle  matters. 

back  to  her  sewing 

'  haste,  she  sewed  a 
out ;  but  only  the 

;ie  dress  should  be 

nd  a  game  of  cro- 

1  make  up  a  side," 
on  get  Percy  White 


er 


,"  returned  Harry, 


YOUMO   HOUSEK££P£B8. 


99 


somewhat  impatiently.  "Can't  you  come  and  play 
on  3  game  at  least  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Mr.  Gladwyn,  look- 
ing up  from  the  paper  he  was  reading. 

"  We  want  Ethel  to  come  and  play  croquet,"  said 
Millie.  "  We  can't  have  sides  unless  she  does ;  and 
she  won't.  She  is  bound  to  finish  a  dress  for  Clarence, 
and  I  can't  get  her  to  do  anything." 

"  Gently,  daughter,  Ethel  is  our  housekeeper  now  ; 
we  must  not  expect  her  to  stop  for  everything.  How 
would  I  do  instead  of  Ethel  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gladwyn,  would  you  play  with  us ;  that 
would  be  just  lovely,"  exclaimed  Fay. 

As  to  Millie  and  Harry  their  good  humor  was  quite 
restored  by  their  father's  timely  offer ;  and  all  went 
off  to  the  garden  well  satisfied.  Ethel  could  hear  their 
merry  voices  as  she  sat  at  work  upstairs.  She  longed 
to  be  with  them  ;  she  knew  it  would  be  better  for  her; 
still  she  kept  on,  growing  more  tired  and  irritable 
every  moment,  and  getting  out  of  patience  whenever 
the  children  interrupted  her. 

Darkness  was  gathering  fast  when  the  players  came 
in.  Ethel  knew  that  George  and  Clarence  ought  to 
have  been  in  l)ed  half  an  hour  before,  but  she  had  not 
insisted  on  it,  because  she  did  not  wish  to  be  hindered. 
Now,  Clarence,  like  all  overtired  children,  was  fretful ; 
Georgie  was  in  very  high  spirits,  and  not  at  all  in- 
clined to  go  to  sleep  quietly;  Fay  Wilton  and  Millie 
were  still  fcdking  together  downstairs.     So  Ethel  was 


100 


THREE  GIRLS. 


left  alone  ;  and  as  she  was  really  tired,  it  was  not  much 
wonder  if  her  patience,  taxed  to  the  utmost,  often  gave 
way.  When  at  last  Millie  came  upstairs,  Ethel's  vexa- 
tion burst  forth : 

*'  I  do  think,  Millie,  you  might  have  excused  your- 
self from  Fay,  and  put  the  children  in  to  bed." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  could  have  done  it.  Anyway, 
it  would  not  have  been  much  use  for  me  to  come,  for 
you  know  you  told  me  this  afternoon  tliat  I  only  made 
trouble  with  the  children,  and  had  better  leave  them 
altogether." 

Ethel  could  say  nothing,  as  she  remembered  that 
in  a  moment  of  vexation  she  had  spoken  woi-ds  to 
that  effect.  She  could  not,  however,  refrain  from  re- 
marking, "  You  haven't  tried  to  help  me  much  to-day." 

This  was  too  much  for  Millie.  "  I  did  try,  I  am 
sure,"  she  exclaimed, "  but  nothing  satisfied  you,  Ethel. 
I  wish  you  had  let  that  dress  alone ;  it  has  made  you 
so  cross."  And  with  that,  Millie  picked  up  her  work, 
the  mending  she  had  not  done  the  day  before,  and 
went  downstairs,  leaving  Ethel  thoroughly  put  out 
with  herself  to  think  she  had  been  betrayed  into 
fault-finding. 

Meantime,  Millie  was  doing  some  thinking  as  she 
sat  alone  at  her  work.  Her  heart  condemned  her, 
and  told  her  that  she  might  have  done  more  for  Ethel; 
thsit  she  had  been  selfish  in  taking  the  greater  part  of 
a  busy  morning  to  finish  reading  a  story  book,  and 
Millie  felt  sorry,  and  resolved  she  would  do  better 


d,  it  was  not  much 
utmost,  often  gave 
lairs,  Ethel's  vexa> 

lave  excused  your- 
in  to  bed." 
done  it.  Anyway, 
r  me  to  come,  for 
n  tliat  I  only  made 
better  leave  them 


remembered  that 
spoken  words  to 


r,  refrain  from  re- 
)  me  much  to-day." 
"  I  did  try,  I  am 
satisfied  you,  Ethel. 
;  it  has  made  you 
>icked  up  her  work, 
le  day  before,  and 
horoughly  put  out 
een  betrayed  into 

le  thinking  as  she 
rt  condemned  her, 
Dne  more  for  Ethel ; 
the  greater  part  of 
a  story  book,  and 
le  would  do  better 


another  day.  But  then  she  remembered  how  often 
before  she  had  resolved  to  do  better,  and  had  failed. 
Was  she  to  go  on  that  way  always  ? 

With  that  came  other  thoughts.  She  had  heard  it 
said  that  our  good  resolutions  are  broken  because 
made  in  our  own  strength.  Was  that  the  reason  for 
failure  ?  Something  within  said  "  Yes,"  so  plainly  that 
Millie  could  not  help  but  hear,  thougii  she  did  not 
wish  to.  Why  then  did  she  not  seek  a  Saviour's  help 
to  overcome  these  faults  of  hers  ?  to  make  her  life 
what  it  should  be  ?  what  in  her  best  moments  she 
wished  it  to  be  ?  Often  these  questions  had  come  to 
Millie's  heart  before;  but  she  always  had  tried  to 
evade  them.  She  did  not  do  so  now,  but  thouglit  them 
over  seriously.  And  so  that  day  of  failure  was  not 
altogether  a  failure  after  all,  since  in  it  were  awakened 
thoughts  that  in  due  time  brought  forth  good  fruit  in 
her  life. 

How  little  we  know  of  one  another's  inner  life ! 
Ethel's  thought  was :  "  Millie  does  not  care ;  she  is 
growing  more  heedless  every  day."  And  for  a  while 
this  thought  chafed  and  irritated  her.  But  Ethel 
knew  where  to  take  the  little  troubles  and  worries  of 
life.  Slie  laid  them  down  at  the  Master's  feet,  realiz- 
ing as  she  did  so  that  she  ought  to  have  done  this 
before;  that  because  she  had  not  done  so  she  had 
failed  to  receive  the  help  she  needed.  Yet  now  help 
came ;  g-entler  thoughts  prevailed ;  and  she  was  ready 
to  excuse  Millie.    "  I  have  expected  too  much  of  her," 


i 


102 


THUEE  aiRLS. 


she  said  to  herself,  "  and  have  found  fault  with  her, 
because  she  did  not  come  up  to  my  ideals  of  what  she 
ought  to  be  and  do  ;  I  must  be  more  patient." 

By-and-by,  Millie  came  upstairs.  "  Can't  I  help 
you,  Ethel,"  she  said. 

Ethel  looked  up  brightly.  "  No,  thank  you,  dear. 
Go  to  bed  like  a  good  child ;  you  must  be  tired.  I 
have  only  these  button-holes  to  work  now." 

Still,  Millie  lingered  ;  then  putting  her  arras  around 
her  sister,  she  said  : "  I  believe  I  have  been  thoughtless 
to-day.  I  might  have  helped  you  more.  1  am  going 
to  try  and  do  better  another  day." 

And  Ethel  said,  "  I  have  been  a  cross  sister  to-day, 
haven't  I  ?  1  will  try  not  to  be  so  again.  There, 
good  night,  desir." 

It  was  late  when  Ethel  had  finished.  As  she 
thought  over  the  day,  she  wondered  whether  it  had 
been  a  successful  day  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word. 
It  had  certainly  L)een  successful  in  so  far  that  she  had 
accomplished  wliat  she  had  planned  to  do.  But  then' 
she  called  to  mind  all  her  hasty  words  to  the  children, 
all  her  impatient  feelings,  remembered  too,  that  Aunt 
Margaret  would  miss  her  usual  Saturday  visit,  and 
that  her  Sunday-school  lesson  was  still  unprepared. 
And  the  words  came  stealing  into  her  heart,  "  Seek  ye 
first  the  kingdom  of  God,"  that  kingdom  Avhich  is 
righteousness,  peace,  and  joy* in  the  Holy  Ghost."  Ah, 
read  in  the  light  of  those  words,  the  day  had  been  a 
failure.     She  had  missed  the  best  things — the  things 


fault  with  lier, 
jals  of  what  she 
patient." 

"Can't  I  help 

tliauk  you,  dear. 
List  be  tired.  I 
now." 

her  arras  around 
been  thoughtless 
re.     I  am  going 

OSS  sister  to-day, 
)  again.     There, 

iiishcd.     As   she 

whether  it  had 

ise  of  the  word. 

far  that  she  had 

o  do.     But  then" 

Is  to  the  children, 

!d  too,  that  Aunt 

urday  visit,  and 

still  unprepared. 

•  heart,  "  Seek  ye 

ngdom  which  is 

[oly Ghost."  Ah, 

day  had  been  a 

ings — the  things 


YOUNG   IIOUSEKEKPERS. 

that  abide  ;  but  she  had  learned  a  lesson  that  was  not 
soon  forgotten. 

The  following  Wednesday,  Ethel  stood  at  the  din- 
iig-room  window  gazing  rather  abstractedly  out,  with 
a  shadow  on  her  usually  bright  face.  A  few  moments 
before  she  had  been  singing  as  she  went  about  her 
household  duties.  The  cause  of  the  sudden  change 
was  to  be  found  in  the  little  note  she  held  in  her  hand. 
It  was  from  her  father,  to  the  effect  that  he  would 
bring  home  to  dine  with  him  Dr.  Somerville  and  his 
wife.  Few  words,  but  quite  sufficient  to  make  Ethel 
feel  flurried  and  nervous.  It  was  not  so  much  the 
thought  of  the  dinner  that  troubled  her ;  though  that 
was,  of  course,  an  occasion  of  some  anxiety  to  a  young 
housekeeper,  yet  witli  Ann's  effici«nt  help  she  knew 
tiiat  it  could  be  provided.  But  to  have  to  entertain  a 
doctor  of  divinity  !  The  mere  thought  was  quite  over- 
whelming. 

Poor  Ethel  had  never  as  yet  been  able  to  overcome 
a  certain  embarrassment  wlien  in  company.  She  was 
painfully  troubled  with  a  self-consciousness  from  which 
it  seemed  impossible  to  escape,  and  which  made  hei' 
manner  constrained.  She  was  told  that  the  remedy 
was  to  forget  herself,  but  the  harder  she  tried  to  do 
this  the  worse  she  became.  She  had  about  concluded 
that  it  was  of  no  use  to  try  ;  that  it  was  impossible  for 
her  to  be  easy  and  natural  like  some  people. 

Now  you  will  see  why  this  little  note  so  disquieted 
her.     "  If  mother  were  only  home,"  she  mused,  **  it 


104 


niRER  OIRUS. 


would  not  be  8o  bad ;  but  I  shall  be  afraid  to  speak 
a  word  before  so  learned  a  man.  His  wife  too,  no 
doubt,  is  an  excellent  housekeeper,  and  will  observe 
anything  that  goes  wrong.  Oh,  dear  I  How  I  wish 
they  had  not  happened  to  come  this  way  just  now  I 
But  there,  I  must  go  and  talk  with  Ann  about  dinner." 
That  arranged,  her  heart  felt  a  little  lighter. 

While  she  was  bjsy  making  ready  for  her  expected 
guests,  her  favorite  text  came  to  her  mind  ;  could  that 
be  a  help  to  her  in  her  difficulties  ?  "  After  all,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  it  matters  very  little  what  they  think 
of  me.  I  am  only  a  humble  member  of  Christ's  great 
kingdom  trying  to  do  his  will ;  and  these  friends  also 
belong  to  that  kingdom  and  serve  the  same  great 
Kiug,  and  the  little  I  can  do  for  them  I  can  do  in  his 
name  I "  Even  as  these  thoughts  came  to  Etliel  she 
felt  her  anxiety  give  way  to  calmness.  Self  was  lost 
sight  of  and  forgotten  in  the  thought  of  Christ,  and 
the  one  supreme  desire  to  serve  him. 

So  when  Mr.  Gladwyn  came,  bringing  his  guests 
with  him,  and  Ethel  was  introduced  to  the  learned 
doctor  and  his  wife,  she  felt  none  of  the  trepidation 
so  natural  to  her. 

After  all,  they  did  not  prove  so  very  dreadful  to  en- 
tertain. Doctor  Somerville  was  very  genial,  and  his 
wife  gentle  and  unassuming,  and  Ethel  enjoyed  every 
moment  of  their  stay.  The  doctor  was  an  old  school- 
mate of  Mr.  Gladwyp's,  and  the  two  had  many  a 
hearty  laugh  talking  over  old  times  together. 


e  afraid  tu  speak 
His  wife  too,  no 
and  will  observe 
ar  I  How  I  wish 
is  way  just  now  I 
nn  about  dinner." 
lighter. 

y  for  her  expected 

mind ;  could  that 

"  After  all,"  she 

e  what  they  think 

sr  of  Christ's  great 

these  friends  also 

the   same   great 

!m  I  can  do  in  his 

ame  to  Ethel  she 

83.     Self  was  lost 

ht  of  Christ,  and 

1. 

ringing  his  guests 
led  to  the  learned 
}f  the  trepidation 

sry  dreadful  to  en- 
ry  genial,  and  bis 
hel  enjoyed  every 
was  an  old  school- 
two  bad  many  a 
together. 


YOUNQ   HOUSEKEEPERS. 


105 


"  We  have  had  such  a  very  pleasant  evening,  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Somerville,  as  s'le  parted  from  Ethel.  "  I 
am  so  glad  to  have  met  you." 

The  pleasant  words  were  welcome  to  Ethel,  but  she 
felt  still  more  pleased  when  her  father  said,  after  their 
friends  had  gone : 

"  You  filled  J  ir  mother's  place  well  to-night,  my 
daughter."  That  was  compliment  enough  for  Ethel, 
for  she  knew  her  father  thought  that  her  mother  ex- 
celled as  an  hostess. 

The  days  slipped  quickly  by,  and  Mrs.  Gladwyn 
came  home  again,  and  Ethel  was  glad  to  give  up  the 
responsibility  of  housekeeping ;  yet  she  felt  that  she 
had  learned  many  helpful  lessons  during  her  mother's 
absence. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PRINCIPLR  TRSTEn. 

rpiIE  last  work  of  August  had  rome,  and  the  May- 
-L  nanl  family  prepared  to  return  home.  It  was 
very  pleasant,  certainly,  to  l«M)k  forward  to  rawting 
again  in  thf  ir  own  dear  home  ;  yet  they  could  nut  leave 
the  place  where  they  had  gpent  so  many  pleasant  days 
without  some  feelings  of  regret. 

Ned  was  in  high  spirits,  l)ecau8e  his  father  had 
written  tliat  instead  of  going  to  college  he  might  try 
business  for  a  year.  The  boy'"  eyes  fairly  shone  as 
he  told  his  sister  about  it,  winding  up  with  the  dec- 
laration, "  It's  my  opinion,  Gract?,  that  at  the  end  of 
the  year  father  won't  know  how  to  get  along  without 
me." 

Grace  wantetl  to  laugh  outright  at  that,  but  she 
managed  to  keep  a  straight  fiice,  for  she  did  not  wish 
to  hurt  her  brother's  feelings.  Indeed,  slie  was  pleased 
to  see  his  enthusiasm ;  and  as  she  noted  the  earnest- 
ness and  manliness  awakened  in  the  hitherto  careless 
lad,  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  believe  business  is  the  right 
thing  for  Neil." 

For  herself,  Grace  felt  that  this  had  been  a  very  happy 
Bumnter.  She  had  tried  to  do  something  for  others. 
Only  a  little  she  felt  it  to  have  been,  but  better  than 
106 


me,  and  the  May- 
rn  luinie.  It  was 
rwani  to  rawting 
)ey  could  not  leave 
lany  pleasant  days 

!e  his  father  had 
lege  ho  might  try 
es  fairly  slionc  as 
up  with  the  dec- 
hat  at  the  end  of 
get  along  without 

t  at  that,  hut  she 
*  she  did  not  wish 
ed,  she  was  pleased 
noted  the  earnest- 
3  hitherto  careless 
msiness  is  the  right 

1  been  a  very  happy 
ething  for  others, 
n,  but  better  than 


PUINCIIM.K  TEHTKD. 


107 


nothing.  Joe  ootild  read  fairly  well— we'l  enough  to 
get  on  himself  Margie  could  jtlay  awl  Hing  a  numlwr 
of  hymns  now  for  her  father's  beneHt.  As  to  the 
little  ones  of  the  infant  class,  Grace  just  wished  she 
could  take  them  all  with  her,  she  hail  gniwn  to  love 
them  so.  The  day  before  she  lefl,  they  came  by  twos 
and  thre.*  to  bid  her  good-bye,  and  as  she  looked 
down  iuto  the  dear  little  faces,  tHw  felt  it  had  Imn  a 
great  privihige  to  speak  of  Jesus  to  tiiem. 

And  Grace  had  heljjed  in  other  ways,  of  which  she 
did  not  know.  She  neve."  knew  how  much  A  lice  Gray, 
who  had  toiled  on  faithfully  in  the  Sunday-school 
amid  many  discouragements,  had  been  cheered  by  this 
fresh,  young  worker  who  had  come  among  them.  She 
did  not  know  either  how  some  young  girls,  as  yet 
without  the  kingdom,  had  watched  her  every  word  and 
act,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she  was  living 
for  something  hig!»er  and  nobler  than  self. 

On  returning  to  Melvin,  Grace  was  disappointed  to 
find  that  Ethel  had  just  gone  away.  Fannie  Weldoii 
was  still  at  the  seaside ;  so  there  was  no  one  to  run 
in  and  see  and  talk  with.  She  felt  rather  lonely,  and 
was  genuinely  glad  when  two  or  three  days  later  she 
met  Leonore  Leslie. 

"  Why,  I  had  no  idea  you  had  come  home  again," 
exclaimed  Grace. 

"  We  only  came  this  morning,"  replied  Leonore. 
"  We  did  not  stay  quite  so  long  as  we  planned,  but 
cousin  Harold  promised  to  sjicnd  a  few  we(!k3  with  us 


1j 


108 


TIlRf.R  (UniA 


wlion  wfl  retiinuKl ;  and  we  thought  it  wait  jiiHt  on  woU 
to  eotno  humo  now.  Scptcmlwr  is  such  a  lovoly  month 
hire.  I  uni  ho  doli^htctl  tlmt  you  ure  lionie,  Graoo.  I 
heard  you  wore  awuy,  and  was  so  afraid  you  nti^ht  nut 
have  returned.  Of  course,  wo  wish  to  nmk«  (x>UHin  I  lar- 
iM'h  visit  OH  plooHAnt  an  |>oHHihh>,  and  I  want  you  to 
help  us.     I  luivo  ever  ho  many  phtns  in  mind  now." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  (»n  add  much  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  your  cousin'H  visit,"  Biiid  Graw.  "  I  suppoM 
you  had  a  dehghtful  time  at  Bay  View?" 

"  Oh,  Grace,  you  ought  to  have  lt>een  with  ua ;  it 
waH  just  splendid.  So  much  gaiety  and  lite;  Home- 
thing  going  on  morning,  noon,  and  night.  And  thou 
we  met  such  nice  |)Ci)ple  I  But  there  !  I  had  l)otter 
not  begin,  for  1  have  so  much  to  tel\  you.  I  am  afraid 
I  would  not  know  when  to  stop.  Now,  Grace,  yoti 
must  come  over  on  Thursday  atYernoon,  and  have  a 
game  of  lawn  tennis.  Harold  will  be  with  us  then, 
and  he  is  an  enthusiastic  toimis-player." 

"  Thank  you,  Loonoro,  I  shall  be  happy  to  come," 
said  Grace. 

When,  on  the  following  Thursdoy,  Gratsc  was  intro- 
duced to  Harold  Winthrop,  she  wondered  whether  he 
oould  be  enthusiastic  about  anything.  There  was  no 
expression  on  his  coimtenance  that  would  indicate  that 
he  had  ever  l)een  in  earnest  about  anything ;  however, 
he  certainly  understood  the  art  of  making  himself 
agreeable,  and  also  proved  to  be  a  good  tennis  player. 

Mr.  Winthrop  was  a  good  student  of  human  nature, 


PRIMCIPLK  TEOTED. 


109 


t  it  wafl  jiiHt  M  well 
micli  a  luvcly  inontli 

TP  lioirje,  (iraoe.  I 
fraiil  you  might  not 
:oiimku(H>iiHiii  Ilur- 
aiul  I  want  you  to 
uis  in  iniuil  now." 

mucli  to  tlifl  onjoy- 
}raw,  "  I  suppose 
View?" 

ve  been  with  us ;  it 
.'ty  and  life;  sonie- 
i  night.  And  thou 
ere  I  I  had  Ijctter 
jP  you.  I  am  afraid 
Now,  Grace,  you 
ernoon,  and  have  a 
U  he  with  U9  then, 
lyer.'* 
be  happy  to  come," 

ly,  Qracic  was  intro- 
ondered  whether  he 
ng.  There  was  no 
would  indicate  that 
mythinw;  however, 
f  making  himself 
good  tennis  player. 
It  of  human  nature. 


and  could  adapt  h!mm>]f  with  cMe  to  very  different 
diHpoHitionH.  With  the  frivolouH,  he  could  talk  the 
veriest  nonstmse ;  and  with  those  of  an  opposite  turn 
of  mind,  the  most  charming  sense.  He  flar>-<ed  on  con- 
versation with  delicate  tact  anrl  skill,  paying  great 
deference  to  the  opinions  of  others,  tarefully  avoiding 
points  that  might  raim;  an  argument.  So  he  manage<l 
always  to  make  others  well  plenmnl  with  themselves, 
and  as  a  natural  mnsetpience,  well  pleased  with  him. 

From  some  word"*  he  dropixnl  ha  they  were  hxiking 
over  a  sketch-book  that  evening,  Grace  learneil  that 
he  was  quite  a  traveler;  and  calling  him  out  she  was  very 
much  entertainc<l  with  his  amusing  and  interesting 
description  of  places  he  had  visited,  for  he  was  more 
observant  of  people  and  things  than  one  would  suppose 
from  his  appearance. 

"  Why,  I  didn't  know  cousin  Harold  could  talk  in 
that  way,"  said  Rita  to  her  sister  liconore.  "He  never 
talked  like  that  to  the  Langley  girls  at  Bay  View." 

"  Well,  yoii  see  they  were  different  from  Grace," 
said  I.«eonore. 

From  that  time  there  was  a  continual  succession  of 
excursions,  picnics,  etc.,  planne<l  by  the  Leslies  foi  the 
entertainment  of  their  cousin,  and  to  all  of  these  Grace 
was  invited. 

It  happened  that  on  these  occasions  Harold  Win- 
thro|)  \va.s  most  freijuently  Grace's  escort.  Grace 
hardly  realized  that  marked  preference  was  shown  her ; 
she  only  knew  that  she  liked  to  talk  with  him — he 


CSt 


no 


TIIRKE  GIRLS. 


was  SO  \vitty  and  clever.     And  the  golden  autumn- 
days  passed  on  like  one  bright  dream. 

The  end  of  September  came,  and  looking  back  over 
the  month,  Grace  recollected  with  a  feeling  of  shame 
that  she  had  not  been  to  prayer  meeting  once  since  her 
return  home  ;  there  had  always  been  some  other  en- 
gagement. Now  she  began  to  question  whether  there 
had  been  anything  in  her  conduct  that  would  lead  Mr. 
Winthrop  to  suppose  that  for  her  to  live  was  Christ — 
that  she  put  first  and  chief  in  her  life  the  seeking  of 
his  kingdom.  She  was  afraid  there  had  not  been. 
She  felt  that  slie  ought  to  have  taken  a  more  definite 
stand,  and  resolved  to  make  amends  for  past  failures  by 
going  to  mooting  the  next  Friday  evening.  But  Fri- 
day proved  lainy,  and  Grace  had  a  sore  throat;  so  she 
could  not  go  to  meeting  as  slie  had  intended.  Leonore 
and  Rita  Leslie,  accompanied  by  their  cousin,  came 
over  to  call  after  tea,  and  stayed  through  the  evening. 

The  following  Sunday  evening  Grace  Avas  accom- 
panied to  church  by  Mr.  Winthrop.  She  had  no  sooner 
seated  herself  than  she  saw  by  a  glance  at  the  com- 
munion table  tliat  the  Lord's  Suprer  was  to  be 
observed  that  evening.  She  had  quite  forgotten  that 
it  was  the  first  Sunday  of  the  month  ;  now  a  tumult 
of  thoughts  arose  in  her  mind.  What  should  she  do? 
Stay,  and  observe  the  sacred  ordinance,  or  go  out  at 
the  close  of  the  preaching  service?  Her  first  thought 
was  to  do  the  latter.  She  felt  unworthy  to  partake  of 
the  sacred  emblems,  having  given  so  little  thought  to 


IL. 


l';',SI.f  >*.'ilFWS."«^i'rJ>WM(*«il-"'" 


PRINCIPLE  TESTED. 


Ill 


the  golden  autumn* 
im. 

1  looking  back  over 
a  feeling  of  shame 
eeting  onro  since  her 
3cn  some  other  en- 
'Stion  whether  there 
that  would  lead  Mr. 
to  live  was  Christ — 
life  the  seeking  of 
here  had  not  been, 
cen  a  more  definite 
5  for  past  failures  by 
evening.  But  Fri- 
i  sore  throat;  so  she 
intended.  Leonore 
their  cousin,  came 
brough  the  evening. 
f  Grace  was  accom- 
I.  She  had  no  sooner 
glance  at  the  com- 
3upper  was  to  be 
juite  forgotten  that 
nth  ;  now  a  tumult 
rhat  should  she  do? 
nance,  or  go  out  at 
Her  first  thought 
lorthy  to  partake  of 
so  little  thought  to 


her  Lord  and  Saviour  through  the  month  past,  and  hav- 
ing lived  so  much  unto  herself.  But  then  she  reflectetl, 
"  I  have  taken  solemn  vows  upon  me,  and  though  I 
have  not  luen  faithful,  yet  to  turn  away  now  will  be 
Mit  another  backward  step.  It  would  surely  be  better  to 
seek  forgiveness  for  the  past  and  help  for  the  future." 
Even  while  she  thought,  the  words  of  the  text  came 
as  a  message  to  her,  "Will  ye  also  go  away  ?  "  A  rever- 
ent hush  fell  on  her  heart.  She  thought  she  could 
almost  hear  her  Lord  speak  to  her,  in  tones  so  tender 
and  sad,  "  Will  you  also  go  away  ?  " 

The  sermon  was  ended,  the  benediction  had  been 
pronoun(.-ed,  the  organ  pealed  forth,  and  the  congrega- 
tion began  to  disperse.  Grace  sat  as  in  a  dream, 
hearing  still  those  words,  "  Will  ye  also  go  away  ?  " 

Harold  Winthrop  was  about  to  go ;  but  seeing  Grace 
still  seated,  he  turned  and  said,  "  Must  you  remain  this 
evening?" 

"  I  wish  to,"  she  answered,  quietly. 
"  I  will  wait  for  you  then,"  he  said.     "  You  know 
my  cousins  expect  you  to   spend  the  evening  with 
them." 

Yes,  Grace  knew  it,  though  at  the  moment  she  had 
forgotten  it ;  she  knew  too  what  Sunday  evening  at 
Elmcroft  meant — some  singing  of  sacred  music  inter- 
spersed witli  a  gpcxl  deal  of  worldly  conversation — 
and  feeling  that  it  would  be  anything  but  helpful  to 
her  religiously,  she  said,  "  Please  excuse  me  to  them  ; 
I  cannot  go  to-night." 


112 


THREE  GIRLS. 


m 


There  was  no  time  to  urge  the  matter,  30  Harold 
could  but  assent,  and  join  the  stream  of  out-goeis. 

And  thus  these  two  who  had  thought  alike  on  so 
many  subjects,  found  themselves  separated  in  thought 
and  feeling  by  a  wide  gidf.  It  expressed  itself  in 
those  two  words,  "must,"  "wish  ";  what  appeared  to 
one  to  l)e  merely  an  irksome  duty,  was  to  the  other  a 
sweet  and  precious  privilege. 

In  that  quiet  hour  Grace  found  peace  and  help,  and 
felt  strengthened  to  meet  another  month's  duties  and 
temptations. 

She  had,  indeed,  need  of  grace  and  strength,  if  she 
would  keep  her  heart  free  from  the  world  and  in 
readiness  for  Christ's  service ;  for  this  was  to  be  for 
her  a  month  of  testing— a  testing  of  the  principles  by 
winch  she  professed  to  be  governed.  Would  she 
stand  the  test  ? 

Harold  Winthrop's  visit  was  drawing  to  a  close; 
and  Leonore  Leslie  was  to  have  a  ball,  the  gmnd  finish- 
ing up  of  all  the  entertainments  of  the  past  weeks. 

Now  Grace  had  decided  not  to  go  to  any  more  balls. 
She  had  come  to  this  decision  whils  at  Forest  Glen. 
When  a  young  girl  she  had  been  accustomed  to  go  to 
gav  parties,  where  dancing  formed  the  only  amusement. 
She  enjoyed  them,  and  thought  dancing  no  harm  ;  so 
when  she  received  an  invitation  to  one,  after  her 
public  profession  of  faith,  she  never  so  much  as  thought 
of  declining  it.  Remarks  were  made  upon  her  course 
by  some  of  the  church-members,  perhaps  not  in  the 


PRINCIPLE  TESTED. 


113 


matter,  m  Harold 
m  of  out-goei'S. 
)ught  alike  on  so 
parated  in  thought 
;xpressed  itself  in 
;  what  appeared  to 
was  to  the  other  a 

>eace  and  help,  and 
Donth's  duties  and 

nd  strength,  if  she 
the  world  and  in 
this  was  to  be  for 
of  the  principles  by 
med.     Would   she 

rawing  to  a  close ; 
dl,thegmnd  iinish- 
:"  the  past  weeks. 
\)  to  any  more  balla. 
la  at  Forest  Glen, 
.ccustomed  to  go  to 
;he  only  amusement, 
ncing  no  harm  ;  so 
to  one,  after  her 
•  80  much  as  thought 
ide  upon  her  course 
perhaps  aot  in  the 


most  kindly  manner.  These  remarks  reached  Grace'n 
ears,  and  instantly  a  spirit  of  opposition  was  aroused. 
She  was  not  going  to  be  governed  by  other  people's 
notions  of  right  and  wrong ;  she  would  act  according 
to  her  own  judgment.  But  thenceforward  she  was 
not  altogether  at  rest. 

Still  deeper  thoughts  were  stirred  that  summer.  It 
was  after  the  quiet  talk  the  girls  had  at  the  picnic,  and 
before  going  to  Forest  Glen,  that  Grace  overheanl 
Mrs.  Sewall  say  ai  a  sewing  circle  that  Hetty  Cuter 
thought  she  might  dance,  as  her  Sunday-school  teacher 
went  to  balls.  Grace  felt  conscience-smitten.  Hetty 
was  in  her  claso,  and  as  slie  knew  had  serious  thoughts 
regarding  her  soul's  salvation.  Was  she  to  be  hin- 
dered in  entering  the  kingdom  by  the  worldly  example 
of  one  who  ought  to  lead  her  to  Christ  ? 

Grace  pondered  the  subject  deeply.  Her  first 
thought  was  to  give  up  her  class.  Then  she  recol- 
lected that  shecouldnot  give  up  her  influrice;  th&tmust 
go  on.  She  b^an  to  see  more  clearl)  too,  that  she 
had  been  surrounding  herself  with  the  wrong  kind  of 
influences.  The  influence  of  the  ball-room  was  not 
such  as  to  help  her  Christward  and  heavenward.  The 
Christian  life  was  opening  out  before  her,  and  she  was 
beginning  to  realize  that  she  could  not  be  conformed 
to  the  world,  and  at  the  same  time  transformed  into 
the  image  of  Christ.     So  she  made  her  choice. 

It  was  an  easy  thing  to  make  the  resolve  in  that 
quiet  nook  up  umong  the  hills,  where  she  seemed  to 

II 


114 


TURBE  QIKLiB. 


breathe  a  purer  atmosphere  and  felt  drawn  nearer  to 
God.  It  was  not  so  easy  to  carry  out  that  resolve  when 
she  came  down  again  into  every-day,  busy,  gay  life. 
When  the  invitation  to  the  Leslie  ball  came,  Gmce 
wished  it  had  been  given  by  some  other  person  than 
Leonore  Leslie,  and  iiad  come  at  another  time,  if  at  all. 
It  would  have  been  so  much  easier  for  Grace  had  she 
taken  a  decided  stand  with  regard  to  worldly  amuse- 
ments on  first  joining  the  church.  It  was  hard  to  re- 
trace her  steps.  Moreover,  her  mother  gave  her  no 
help.  "  I  think  you  are  altogether  too  scrupulous, 
Grace,"  she  said.  "  It  does  seem  too  bad  to  give  up 
going  to  the  Leslies'  entertiiinraent ;  it  will  be  such  a 
very  select  affair.  If  you  have  objections  to  dancing, 
surely  you  can  go  and  not  dance. 

"  No,  mother,  I  could  not.  You  know  I  like  dan- 
cing, and  I  would  rather  stay  away  than  go  as  a  mere 
spectator.  Besides,  even  if  I  could  be  only  that,  I 
would  still  have  the  name  of  going  ;  people  would  not 
stop  to  ask  whether  I  danced  or  not,  and  my  useful- 
ness would  be  just  as  much  hindered." 

"  Well,  Grace,  of  course,  you  can  do  as  you  wish 
about  it.  You  know  I  like  to  see  you  interested  in 
good  works,  and  do  not  wish  you  <  be  gay ;  but  I 
think  you  might  have  strained  a  point  this  once  when 
the  invitation  came  from  such  intimate  friends  as  the 
Leslies. 

"  Supposing  I  had ;  then,  having  begun  the  season 
with  the  Leslies,  how  could  I  refuse  the  Warings,  and 


PBIXOJPIiE  TESTED. 


115 


It  drawn  nearer  to 

it  that  resolve  when 

day,  busy,  gay  life. 

I  ball  came,  Grace 

other  person  than 

lother  time,  if  at  all. 

p  for  Grace  had  she 

to  worldly  arausc- 

It  was  hard  to  re- 

lother  gave  her  no 

ler  too  scrupulous, 

too  bad  to  give  up 

t ;  it  will  be  such  a 

bjections  to  dancing, 

)u  know  I  like  dan- 
ly  than  go  as  a  mere 
luld  be  only  that,  I 
g  5  popls  would  not 
not,  and  my  useful- 
ired." 

can  do  as  you  wish 
]ee  you  interested  in 
u  r  he  gay ;  but  I 
point  this  once  when 
timate  friends  as  the 

ing  begun  the  season 
use  the  Warings,  and 


the  Braithwaites,  and  all  the  rest  of  our  friends.    No, 
mother,  I  must  decide  now." 

In  spite  of  Grace's  firmness  it  cost  her  considerable 
effort  to  write  a  note  to  Leonore,  in  which  she  declined 
the  invitation  and  gave  her  reasons  for  doing  so.  And 
when  the  next  day  Leonore  came  over,  and  overwhelmed 
her  with  entreaties  to  come  just  this  once,  and  gav'e 
numberless  reasons  wh>  she  should,  Grace  was  per- 
suaded to  reconsider  the  matter. 

She  was  honestly  perplexed,  and  wished  either 
Ethel  or  Fannie  at  home,  so  that  she  could  ask 
their  advice.  Ethel  could  not  be  reached  quickly  by 
letter,  Fannie  could.  So  Grace  wrote  to  the  latter, 
stating  at  lengtli  all  the  reasons  for  and  against  going 
to  the  Leslies,  and  asking  advice. 

The  next  day  Fannio's  answer  came ;  and  this  was 
all  she  said  with  referenc«  to  that  part  of  Grace's  letter : 
**  With  regard  to  your  difficulties  about  the  invitation 
you  have  received,  I  have  but  this  word  to  write — 
'Seelr  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God.'" 

"  i'here  ! "  said  Grace,  throwing  down  the  letter  with 
a  g.esture  of  impatience.  "  Slie  has  just  put  tiie  re- 
sponsibility of  the  decision  back  on  myself  again.  I 
wish  that  she  had  said  soraetiiing  that  would  fit." 
Here  she  paused.  After  all,  what  could  Fannie  or 
Ethel  or  any  one  say  that  would  fit  her  case  any  better 
than  the  words  of  Scripture.  The  only  trouble  was 
they  fitted  too  well.  When  she  listened  to  what  others 
had  to  say  on  the  subject  she  was  very  much  {lerplexed 


116 


THREE  aiRLS. 


as  to  her  duty  ;  when  on  the  other  han«l,  she  looked 
at  the  Scriptui-e  words  lionestly  and  fairly,  her  per- 
plexity vaiiished ;  the  way  was  plain  before  her. 

Was  she  willing  to  take  that  way  ?  She  would 
have  to  give  up  something?  Yes,  aa  evening's 
pleasure— but  was  that  anything  to  be  compared  to 
the  privilege  of  being  a  co-worker  with  God  ?  Then 
the  woids  of  that  sermon  that  had  helped  her  so  long 
before  came  to  her  mind,  "  In  the  light  of  eternity, 
will  you  regret  having  made  some  sacrifice  for  Christ's 
sake ;  ah,  whatever  else  you  regret,  you  will  not  regret 
that."  And  then  and  there  Grace  gave  herself  anew 
to  Christ  and  Itis  service,  and  took  another  step  up- 
ward in  the  Christian  way. 

Harold  Winthropwas  much  disappointed  at  Grace's 
decision,  and  resolved  to  try  to  persuade  her  to  alter 
it.  A  magazine  to  be  returned  made  a  good  excuse 
for  calling  on  the  following  afternoon.  Grace  knew 
instinctively  the  real  object  of  his  visit,  and  as  she 
went  down  to  the  drawing  room  felt  somewhat  as  one 
might  feel  who  was  marching  right  up  to  the  enemy's 
guns.  However,  she  tried  to  appear  unconcerned,  and 
chattered  away  in  a  very  animated  manner  upon  a 
variety  of  subjects,  skilfully  avoiding  all  reference  to 
the  approaching  ball. 

But  Mr.  Winthrop  <va8  not  to  be  so  easily  turned 
aside  from  the  object  of  his  visit.  He  became  ab- 
sti-acted  and  tiie  conversation  was  one-sided,  until  at  last 
Grace  said,  with  regard  to  some  subject: 


PRINCIPLE  TESTED. 


117 


r  hand, she  looked 
nd  fairly,  her  per- 
lin  before  her. 

way?  She  would 
Yes,  an   evening'a 

to  be  compared  to 
r  with  God?  Then 
1  helped  her  so  long 
e  light  of  eternity, 

sacrifice  for  Christ's 
;,  you  will  not  regret 
a  gave  herself  anew 
k  another  step  up- 

sappointed  at  Grace's 
jrsuade  her  to  alter 
made  a  good  excuse 
ruoon.  Grace  knew 
hid  visit,  and  as  she 
felt  somewhat  as  one 
lit  up  to  the  enemy's 
»ear  unconcerned,  and 
ited  manner  upon  a 
iing  all  reference  to 

be  so  easily  turned 
dt.  He  became  ab- 
ane-sided,  until  at  last 
subject : 


"  Do  you  not  think  so,  Mr.  Winthrop?  '' 
"To  say  the  truth,"  he  answered,  "  I  cannot  tiiiuk 
of  anything  but  my  disappointment  at  your  refusal  to 
oome  to  the  ball  next  Thursday ;  my  pleasure  will  be 
quite  spoiled,  I  can  assure  you." 

Grace  had  planned  beforehand  what  she  would  say 
if  the  subject  was  referred  to ;  but  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  earnestness  with  which  M..  Winthrop 
spoke  and  the  pleading  look  with  which  he  regarded 
her,  that  put  all  her  well-ordered  sentences  to  flight,  and 
she  could  only  say  : 

"  I  am  sorry  that  my  not  going  will  prove  a  dis- 
appointment to  you ;  but  after  all,"  she  added,  glancing 
up  archly,  "  I  do  not  believe  you  will  miss  me  so  very 
much  ;  tliere  will  be  ever  so  many  nice  girls  there,  and 
you  will  not  find  it  hard  to  console  yourself  for  my 
absence." 

"  I  must  play  the  agreeable,  I  suppose,"  he  said, 
gloomily  ;  "  but  I  shall  not  enjoy  myself  if  you  are  not 
there,  that  is  certain." 

Grace  said  nothing.  With  downcast  eyes  she 
studied  the  carpet  intently,  while  Harold  studied  her ; 
then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  he  S8.id,  gently : 
"  I  think  you  might  take  pity  on  me,  Grace." 
Siie  started.  He  had  never  calletl  her  by  her 
Christian  name  before,  and  it  thrilled  her.  She  looked 
up  to  meet  the  gaze  of  a  pair  of  hazel  eyes,  that  sei  raed 
as  though  they  would  read  the  inmost  thoughts  of  her 
inmost  soul. 


]!   ; 


118 


TIUIKE  aiuix. 


"  Will  you  not  come  this  once,  just  to  please  me  ?  " 
he  pleaded. 

Grace  dropped  her  eyes  quickly  again.  Did  Harold 
Winthrop  know  what  she  knew  now  for  the  first  time, 
that  she  would  rather  please  him  than  any  one  else  in 
the  world  ?  Yes,  he  knew  ;  he  was  by  nt)  means  un- 
conscious of  his  power,  and  felt  pretty  sure  of  victory. 
But  there  was  another  power  than  man's  at  work  in 
that  young  girl's  heart ;  a  power  which  Harold  had 
not  taken  into  account.  And  so  it  was  that  when 
Grace  looked  up  again  all  her  self-possession  had  re- 
turned, and  she  met  his  gaze  calmly  as  she  said,  very 
quietly  and  simvjly : 

"  I  would  like  to  please  you,  but  I  would  rather 
please  Christ." 

It  was  Harold's  turn  to  be  embarrassed  now.  He  felt 
as  he  looked  on  that  counttnunce,  on  whicli  shone  the 
light  of  a  holy  victory,  that  no  arguments  of  his  tiould 
reach  her ;  she  had  been  placed  far  above  them.  For 
a  moniput  he  felt  annoyed,  as  much  at  his  own  failure 
as  at  her  refusal.  But  he  was  not  passionate  by  nature, 
and  ii  was  against  his  principles  to  make  himself 
miserable  about  anything  when  he  might  just  as 
well  be  happy;  so  he  maintained  his  equanimity, 
and  after  a  few  commonplace  remarks  took  his  de 
parture. 

Grace  stood  at  the  window  watching  him  as  he 
walked  away,  and  there  came  to  her  heart  a  conscious- 
ness tlat  she  had  let  something  go  out  of  lier  life — 


8t  tu  please  nie 


9" 


^aiii.  Did  Harold 
r  fui  the  tint  time, 
tan  any  one  else  in 
s  by  no  means  nu- 
tty sure  of  victory. 

man's  at  work  in 
vhich  Harold  had 

it  was  that  when 
possession  had  re- 
y  as  she  said,  very 

ut  I  would  rather 

■assed  now.  He  felt 
ID  which  shone  the 
iments  of  his  could 
•  above  tliem.  For 
I  at  his  own  failure 
ossionate  by  nature, 
I  to  make  himself 
he  might  just  as 
d  his  equanimity, 
narks  took  his  de 

alching  him  as  he 
>r  heart  a  conscious- 
>  out  of  her  lift^- 


PRIXCIIM.E   TESTED. 


ne 


sometliiug   that   might  have  been — yet  not  for  one 
moment  did  she  regret  it. 

As  for  Harold  Winthrop,  he  had  felt  attached  to 
Grai*  as  he  never  had  been  to  any  other  girl.  She  had 
beon  much  in  his  thoughts  of  late,  and  he  had  resolved 
to  take  some  favorable  opportunity  to  tell  her  of  his 
feelings ;  but  ibe  events  of  the  last  few  days  had  put 
a  different  phfise  upon  his  thouglits.  He  did  not 
wish  to  have  one  for  a  wife  whose  religious  principles 
would  prevent  her  going  with  him  into  gay  society. 
He  saw  very  plainly  that  he  could  not  induce  Grace 
to  give  up  her  principles,  and  he  was  not  willing  to 
give  up  his  own  ;  so  he  decided  it  was  better  that  they 
should  be  friends  only.  1' et  he  never  lost  the  pleasant 
impressions  received  while  enjoying  the  company  of 
this  sweet-faoed  young  girl. 


J 


CHAPTER  XI. 


CONFLICT  AND  VICTORY. 


IT  Uiight  be  supposed  that  having  once  made  her 
decision,  Grace  would  have  no  more  conflicts. 
Perhaps  she  expected  so  herself  but,  like  all  mortals, 
she  had  her  ups  and  downs.  She  was  not  always  in  an 
exalted  state  of  mind,  and  she  had  yet  an  even  harder 
battle  to  fight  with  liei*8elf. 

Thursday  evening  had  come  and,  as  it  happened, 
was  particularly  dull  at  home.  Mr.  Maynard  had 
gone  back  to  his  off  le.  Ned  had  been  given  permis- 
sion to  go  to  some  entertainment.  Mrs.  Maynard  had 
the  sick-headache ;  so  after  Aggie  went  to  bed,  Grace 
was  left  alone.  She  'ried  working,  then  reading,  but 
felt  too  restlefes  to  settle  down  to  anything.  At  last, 
yielding  to  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  she  climbed 
the  two  flights  of  stairs  to  the  upper  story  of  the  house, 
where  from  a  little  turret  window  she  could  look  over 
to  the  licslies'  residence,  and  see  the  gleaming  lights 
and  catch  strains  of  music.  She  knew  it  was  not  a  wise 
thing  to  do,  yet  she  sat  there  picturing  to  herself  all 
the  brightness  and  gaiety  within  the  stately  rooms  at 
Elracroft. 

Then  she  thougiit  of  Harold  Winthrop.  Was  he 
all  devotion  to  Clara  Prescott  to-night  ?  The  thought 
lao 


I  lis; 


CONFLICT   AKD    VICTORY. 


lai 


)RY. 

ig  onoe  made  her 
30  more  conflicts, 
t,  like  all  mortals, 
18  not  always  in  an 
yet  an  even  harder 

i,  as  it  happened, 
Vfr.  Maynard  had 
)een  given  permis- 
Mrs.  Maynard  had 
vent  to  bed,  Grace 
,  then  reading,  but 
nything.  At  last, 
tment,  she  climbed 
r  story  of  the  house, 
ihe  could  look  over 
le  gleaming  lights 
ew  it  was  not  a  wise 
•ing  to  herself  all 
le  stately  rooms  at 

inthrop.  "Was  he 
jht?    The  thought 


stal>l>od  her.  She  turned  quickly  and  went  down  to 
her  own  room,  and  there  sitting  alone  in  the  darkness 
she  struggled  with  herself.  A  rush  of  tumultuous 
thoughts  overcame  her  ;  all  tiie  attractions  and  allure- 
ments of  this  A'orld  were  presented  to  her  mind  in 
brightest  array.  Tlie  glory  of  that  other  kingdom 
seemed  very  far  away  ;  she  could  not  lay  iioh'.  of  it  in 
in  her  weakness.  She  scarcely  knew  how  to  pray ; 
at  last  she  said  aloud,  as  though  she  was  8])caking  to 
some  one,  "  Iwill  seek  the  kingdom  of  God  first,"  and 
then  came  peace. 

It  was  shaken  but  once  more ;  that  was  the  next 
day  at  dinner,  when  Ned  said,  "  Tom  Bennett  told  me 
that  the  ball  last  night  was  just  fine.  Clara  Prescott 
was  the  belle  of  tiie  evening.  Mr.  Winthrop  danced 
with  her  a  great  deal."  Ned  eyed  his  sister  sharply 
as  he  made  this  last  remark,  but  he  got  no  satisfac- 
tion. 

"  Indeed  ! "  was  Grace's  only  reply ;  but  her  inward 
thought  was,  "  Will  they  give  me  no  peace — not  even 
at  home?" 

She  went  out  into  the  garden  when  dinner  was  over 
feeling  sad  and  lonely.  She  stopped  to  look  at  a 
beautiful  passion-flower  that  had  just  opened.  Flowers 
have  their  messages  oftentimes  for  those  who  will 
heed.  As  Grace  looked  on  it  she  thought  of  the 
suffering  Saviour ;  and  then  the  words  came  to  mind : 

"  I  gave  My  life  for  thee, 
What  hast  thou  given  for  Me," 


.lli 


122 


TItRKK   (JItlTJ». 


and  lior  heart  grow  glml  ut  tlic  thought  that  sho  hail 
given  up  eouiothing  of  this  world  for  him. 

As  Oraoe  passwl  into  the  house  she  saw  a  woman 
wliodid  sewing  for  iier  mother,  and  8topi)ed  to  inquire 
afuM-  her  family.  At  any  other  time  it  would  not  have 
oc<!urre«l  to  her  to  do  this ;  but  now,  dmwn  closer  to  her 
Saviour,  she  felt  a  deeiwr  sympathy  for  all  netKiyoncs, 
and  the  sad,  patient  faee  of  tlie  woman  attracted  her 
attention.  She  listened  with  new  fwlings  of  interest 
as  the  poor  mother  told  of  her  little  sick  boy  who  had 
never  recoveretl  from  an  attat^k  of  the  measles,  and 
seemed  to  ho  going  intt)  a  decline. 

(Jrace's  syinpaihies  were  aroused  at  once.  "To 
think,"  she  «iid  afterward  to  her  mother,  in  speak- 
ing of  it,  "  that  1  never  should  have  known  about  that 
poor  little  lM)y,  and  he  living  so  m^ar  !" 

"  I  ought  to  have  gone  and  seen  the  child  myself," 
said  her  mother.  "  I  really  did  not  know  he  was  so  ill, 
but  we  were  away,  and  before  that  I  was  poorly,  and 
there  were  many  things  to  be  done."  Mrs.  Maynard 
had  not  stopped  to  inquire  whether  tliis  visit  might 
not  be  more  important  than  some  of  the  "  many  things" 
she  referretl  to. 

i*.  was  not  long  before  Grace  paid  a  visit  to  the  home 
oft!  -oor  widow,  carrying  with  her  some  little  deli- 
cac'ea  that  she  thought  might  sharpen  the  appetite  of 
th<'  sick  boy. 

Little  Joe  lay  propped  up  on  a  lounge  near  the 
window.     He  did  not  api>car  to  be  so  ill  as  he  really 


eoNFr.urr  akd  vnrr<»UY. 


1S3 


gilt  that  bIiu  littil 
r  liim. 

hIio  wiw  a  WDiiiun 
)toi){HHl  to  inquire 
0  it  would  not  have 
Jruwn  cU)8t'r  to  her 

lor  uU  necHi'vones, 
man  attracted  her 
iH'lings  of  interest 

sick  l)oy  who  liad 

the  measles,  and 

d  at  once.  "  To 
mother,  in  speak- 
i  known  about  that 


ir 


I" 


the  child  myself," 
know  he  was  so  ill, 
I  was  poorly,  and 
"  Mrs.  Maynard 
T  this  visit  might 
the  "many  things" 

1  a  visit  to  the  home 
er  some  little  deli- 
ten  the  appetite  of 

a  lounge  near  the 
so  ill  as  he  really 


wurt,  for  hin  cheeks  wen;  flushe*!,  un<l  his  eyes  were  very 
bright. 

"  He  likes  to  be  where  he  can  see  v/hat  is  passing," 
his  mother  explainetl.  "  On  warm  summer  days  I  lot 
him  sit  out  in  the  garden.  He  so  loves  to  watcii  the 
birds  ond  Itees  and  butterflies — anything  living,  in 
fact,  even  a  spider.  See,  now  he  has  the  pussy.''  And 
she  pointed  to  a  largo  Maltese  eat,  curled  up  beside 
him. 

"80  you  likebird*,  Joe, do  you?"  soidGrnce,  sitting 
down  by  him.  **  Well,  if  your  cat  will  bo  good,  and 
not  touch  it,  I  will  let  you  have  my  canary  for 
a  while." 

"  You  are  ever  so  kind,"  exclaimed  Joe.  **  I  siiould 
just  love  to  have  a  bird.  I'll  see  that  Malty  docs  not 
hurt  it.  He  doesn't  dare  touch  the  birds  that  are  in 
the  garden.     Won't  it  be  orapany  for  me,  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  lovely.  I  am  sure  we  are  very 
much  obliged  to  the  lady." 

"  Do  you  get  much  work  to  do,  Mrs.  Bent  ?  "  said 
Gmce. 

"  Yes,  miss,  I  get  considerable  work  ;  not  but  what 
I  would  like  to  get  more.  It  is  hard  to  get  along  at 
times." 

"  Esi)ecially,"  put  in  Joe,  "  when  you  do  fine  work, 
and  don't  get  paid  for  it ;  like  that  you  did  for " 

"  There,  there,  Joe,"  interrupted  his  mother;  "  that 
will  do." 

"  Why,  don't  you  always  get  paid  for  your  work, 


124 


THREE  OIRT^. 


Mrs.  Bent?"  said  Grace,  in  surprise.     It  was  a  new 
idea  to  the  girl. 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Joe,  "  there  was  that  piece  of  work 
she  did  for  Mrs.  Leslie.  It  took  her  days  to  do  it, 
and  she  has  never  got  a  cent  for  it." 

"  It  was  embroidery,  miss,  and,  of  course,  I  ex- 
pected to  be  well  paid  for  it.  I  did  it  about  a  year  ago, 
and  have  not  received  any  pay  for  it  yet.  Mrs.  Leslie 
always  says  she  has  no  money,  but  will  send  it.  Yet 
she  never  does.  Joe  is  so  indignant  about  it  that  it  is 
hard  for  him  to  keep  still ;  but  I  tell  him  it  does  no 
good  to  make  a  fuss.     I  was  disappointed,  though." 

"  I  shouM  think  so,"  said  Grace,  feeling  indignant 
as  she  thought  of  the  handsome  appointmentd  of  the 
Leslie  household.  "  I  would  not  have  thought  it  of 
them." 

"  Ah,  miss  I  no  more  would  I.  But  folks  say  that 
they  live  beyond  the'.r  means." 

After  some  fun  her  conversation  Grace  took  her  leave, 
promising  to  bring  the  canary  and  some  books  for  Joe 
the  next  time  she  came. 

She  went  back  to  her  own  cosy,  comfortable  home, 
feeling  that  she  had  obtained  a  glimpse  of  a  different 
world  from  that  in  which  she  lived  ;  a  world  of  which 
hitherto  she  had  known  little  and  thougiit  less — a 
world  of  hardship  and  poverty,  of  daily  struggle  for 
daily  bread.  And  all  this  time  she  had  been  going 
on  carelessly  and  happily,  thinking  of  life  only  as  a 
pleasant  thing  to  be  enjoyed,  and  the  fleeting  days  as 


ie.     It  was  a  new 

that  piece  of  work 
ler  days  to  do  it, 

of  course,  I  ex- 
it about  a  year  ago, 
t  yet.  Mrs.  Leslie 
will  send  it.  Yet 
it  about  it  that  it  is 
ell  him  it  does  no 
x)inted,  though." 
I,  feeling  indignant 
)pointmentri  of  the 
have  thought  it  of 

But  folks  say  tliat 

ir race  took  her  leave, 
some  books  for  Joe 

comfortable  home, 
npse  of  a  different 
I ;  a  world  of  which 
d  thouglit  less — a 
'  daily  struggle  for 
he  had  been  going 
I  of  life  only  as  a 
he  fleeting  days  as 


CONFLICT  AND  VICTORY. 


125 


80  many  fair  flowers  from  which  to  sip  sweetness. 
But  she  was  growing  in  earnestness,  and  now  formed 
the  resolution  that  from  henceforth  she  would  not  be 
as  the  butterfly  flitting  from  one  pleasure  to  another  ; 
the  rather  would  she  be  like  the  bee,  gathering  sweet- 
ness from  each  opening  flower,  only  lo  lay  up  in 
store  for  others. 

When  Grace  told  her  mother  how  Mrs.  Leslie  had 
treated  the  widow,  she  did  not  seem  quite  so  sur- 
prised as  her  daughter  had  been. 

"  But,  mother,  I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  Grace. 
"  Mrs.  Leslie  is  a  kind  woman ;  tliey  all  are  kind- 
hearted.  T  am  sure  they  would  give  to  a  person  in 
need.  How  could  she  withhold  what  was  rightfully 
due  the  poor  woman  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,  my  dear,  she  used  the  money  for  other 
things  that  she  fancied  she  must  have,  and  thought 
the  woman  could  wait.  Doubtless  slie  meant  to  pay 
her,  and  has  gone  on  meaning  to  pay  her  for  so  long 
that  now,  perhaps,  she  feels  as  though  she  had  done 
so." 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Bent  cannot  live  on  good  intentions 
though,  can  she  ? "  said  Grace.  "  I  feel,  mother,  aa 
though  I  should  never  care  for  Mrs.  lieslie's  entertain- 
ments ttg<«.in." 

That  Grace  Maynard  should  have  declined  to  attend 
the  Leslie  ball  from  conscientious  scruples  caused  no 
little  comment  among  the  circle  of  her  acquaintance. 
The  following  is  a  sample : 


126 


TUBEE  MlJOUa. 


"And  80  Grace  Maynard  has  really  given  up 
dancing  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  Miss  Clemens 
to  her  intimate  friend,  Pearl  Harper.  "  What  a  pity 
it  is  to  become  so  bigoted  and  narrow-minde<l !  I 
didn't  think  Grace  was  that  kind  of  a  girl.  For  my 
part,  I  like  broad  ideas." 

Yet  this  young  lady  of  "  broad  ideas"  had  no  thought 
beyond  the  little  world  of  fasliion  in  which  shemovwl; 
felt  no  interest  in  seeking  to  upliil  the  suffering  and 
degraded,  either  at  home  or  abroad ;  made  no  effort  to 
take  even  tl";  humblest  place  among  those  who  were 
seeking  the  coming  of  Gt)d's  kingdom  upon  earth. 

Meanwhile,  Grace  went  quietly  on.  In  a  very 
simple,  straightforward  manner  she  told  hf  ouuday- 
school  scholars  of  the  diange  in  her  feelings;  told 
them  1k>w  deeply  she  r^retteii  not  having  taken  a  de- 
cided stand  with  r^rd  to  worldly  amusements  before, 
and  that  now  her  desire  was  to  be  consecrated  in  heart 
and  lite  to  her  Lord  und  Master,  and  timt  they  too, 
with  lier,  would  follow  Jesus. 

That  tender,  earnest,  serious  appeal  went  to  the 
hearts  of  the  girls,  who  loved  their  teacher  devotedly ; 
and  from  that  time  her  words  came  with  power  to 
them,  since  s!>e  ctuild  truly  say,  "  Be  ye  followers  of 
me,  as  I  also  am  of  Christ" 


really  given  up 
said  MissCIemeiia 
r.  "What a  pity 
irrow-mindefl !     I 

a  girl.    For  my 

ts"  had  no  thought 

which  shemovi-d; 

the  suffering  and 

made  no  effort  to 
ig  those  who  were 
)m  upon  earth. 

on.  In  a  very 
told  he-  ounday- 
her  feelings;  told 
laving  taken  a  de- 
musements  before, 
jnsecrated  in  heart 
ind  that  they  too, 

)peal  went  to  the 
teacher  devotedly ; 
me  with  power  to 
le  ye  followers  of 


CHAPTER  XII. 


NED  VAYKARD. 


AS  winter  drew  near,  with  its  long  evenings,  there 
was  one  thought  more  often  present  to  Grace's 
mind  than  any  other,  and  that  wa»,  huw  t^  win  her 
brother  Ned  from  the  evil  influences  which  gathered 
around  him.  He  was  nearing  the  age  when  it  was 
not  possible  to  compel  him  to  stay  at  home  evenings. 
Home  must  ih  made  pleasant  enough  to  attract  him. 
The  responsibility,  Grace  felt,  rested  upon  her. 

Ned's  companions  were  not  the  kind  he  cared  to  in- 
vite to  the  house,  or  introduce  to  his  sister ;  while  with 
Grace's  friends  he  felt  awkward  and  sliy,  and  when 
they  dropped  in  of  an  evening  he  invariably  made 
his  escape  as  scon  rs  possible. 

Grace  now  devoted  herself  to  pleasing  her  biother. 
She  laid  aside  her  fancy  work  to  play  games  with  him. 
She  tried  to  lie  interested  in  anything  that  intere8te<l 
him.  But  Ned  was  restless ;  one  night  or  two  of  such 
quiet  (;mployment  was  enough  for  him.  Grace  puz- 
zled her  brain  to  think  of  something  that  would 
really  interest  him,  but  without  success,  until  one 
day  he  happ'^ned  to  help  her  out  of  her  difficulty  by 
saying : 

"  My !  don't  I  wish  I  oould  play  the  violin  liko 

127 


^  *irtt*-i!»»*!*a*-«3is**pr«*^^ 


128 


THREE  OIR1J9. 


Carl  Hoffman  !  He  will  give  lessons  now  too,  at  a 
quite  reasonable  priue." 

Carl  Hoffman  Avas  not  much  older  than  Ned,  but 
he  had  begun  to  leum  to  play  the  violin  at  a  very 
early  age.  He  pmctised  perseveringly  and  faithfully, 
and  in  time  became  quite  proficient  He  had  just  now 
returned  trom  a  short  sojourn  in  one  of  the  large  cities, 
where  he  had  taken  lessons  from  an  excellent  teacher. 

Every  one  in  Melvin  was  talking  about  Carl  Hoff- 
man, and  he  was  in  great  demand  to  play  at  local 
concerts  and  entertainments.  He  soon  announced 
that  he  would  give  lessons,  and  forthwith  many  young 
people  became  possessed  with  a  desire  to  play  the 
violin,  Ned  among  the  number. 

Grace  seized  the  opportunity.  "  Why  don't  you 
take  lessons  ?  It  would  be  so  nice  for  you  to  be  able 
to  play  on  the  violin,  and  I  would  play  your  accom- 
paniments." 

"  Oh,  it's  easy  to  talk !  But  it's  not  likely  that  father 
would  buy  a  violin.  A  good  one  is  quite  expensive 
you  know ;  and  besides,  I  know  mother  could  never 
bear  hearing  me  practise." 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Grace ;  privately  resolved  to  do 
all  in  her  power  to  persuade  her  father  and  mother  to 
gratify  Ned's  wish. 

That  very  evening,  finding  an  opportunity,  she  spoke 
to  Mr.  Maynard  about  it. 

"  Ned  wants  to  learn  to  play  the  violin,  father." 

"  He  does  ?     Well,  lie  would  soon  tire  of  it." 


ons  now  too,  at  a 

ier  than  Ned,  but 
violin  at  a  very 
igly  and  faithfully, 
He  had  just  now 
e  of  the  large  cities, 
1  excellent  teacher. 
g  about  Carl  Hoff- 
i  to  play  at  local 
e  soon  announced 
hwith  many  young 
iesire  to  play  the 

"  Why  don't  you 

for  you  to  be  able 

play  your  accom- 

lot  likely  that  father 
is  quite  expensive 
lothe'r  could  never 

ely  resolved  to  do 
:her  and  mother  to 

tortunity,  she  spoke 

iriolin,  father.*' 
>n  tire  of  it." 


VED  MAYNABD. 


1S9 


"  I  don't  think  so.  I  think  he  would  take  a  real 
interest  in  it,  and  if  only  he  once  became  interested  in 
something  of  that  kind  it  would  be  so  much  better  than 
the  things  he  cares  for  now.  I'm  so  anxious  about 
Ned,  ftther!" 

A  stern  look  came  into  Mr.  Maynard's  face ;  Ned's 
conduct  was  a  sore  point.  He  said  nothing;  and 
Grace  had  to  take  up  the  conversation  again. 

"  You  will  let  him  take  leauons,  won't  you,  father," 
she  pleaded. 

He  looked  down  on  her  earnest  face,  and  smiled  : 
"  You  will  have  your  way,  daughter ;  but  how  can  I 
afford  it  when  I  have  to  supply  all  your  numerous  wants 
— silk  dresses,  etc." 

"  Now,  papa,  you  know  I  have  not  had  a  silk  dress 
this  summer,  and  I  will  do  without  anything  if  you 
will  only  get  tlie  violin  for  Ned." 

"  But  if  I  do,  it  will  drive  your  mother  distracted 
to  hear  Ned  scraping  away,  morning,  noon,  and 
night." 

"  I  will  undertake  to  persuade  mother,"  said  Grace. 
"  I  am  sure  I  can  find  some  out-of-the-way  comer 
where  Ned  can  practise." 

"  Very  well,  he  can  try ;  but  it's  my  opinion  he  will 
soon  give  it  up." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  I  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Grace,  taking 
no  notice  of  the  latter  part  of  her  father's  speech. 
"But,  father,"  she  went  on,  "do  you  really  find  us  a 
very  exjiensive  family  ?  " 


% 


130 


t::i:ee  qirijs. 


KU 


"Ruinous,  my  dearl    You  will  bring  me  to  the 

jKK. -house!" 

"  Now  that  is  the  wrv  you  always  put  me  oft, 
papa,"  said  Grace,  reproachfully.  "  But  I  really  want 
to  know,  because  I  would  do  without  many  things  if 
I  tl.ought  you  could  not  afford  to  let  me  have  them. 

"  Well,  Grace,  times  are  hard  in  businebs  circles  just 
now ;  and  I  do  feel  somewhat  embarrassed  sometimes. 
But  if  I  can-tide  over  this  season  I  expect  to  be  all  riglit. 
I  do  not  care  to  say  anything  to  your  mother  about 
these  things.  She  would  worry,  and  she  is  not  strong 
enough  to  bear  any  extra  anxiety  ;  but  I  have  of  late 
been  somewhat  worried  over  business  matters." 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  told  me,"  said  Grace ;  "  for  now 
1  3hall  study  to  be  very  economical  and  careful.  Poor 
father,  I  wish  I  could  help  you,  you  have  so  many 
burdens  to  carry." 

"Rich  father!  yon  ought  to  say,  with  such  a 
daughter ! "  returned  Mr.  Maynard,  looking  fondly  at 
the  bright-faced  young  girl  by  his  side. 

Tt  was  a  gvt  '  deal  for  Mr.  Maynard  to  say,  and 
Grace's  heart  lu/iUed  with  pleasure  at  the  words.  A 
new  bond  of  sympnthy  had  been  fbrracd  between  father 
and  daughter.  Grace  felt  honored  that  her  father 
should  have  placed  confidence  in  her,  and  resolved  to 
be  worthy  of  it.  She  saw  too,  that  when  she  had 
thought  him  taciturn  and  morose,  he  had  been  in- 
wardly worried  and  worn,  bearing  burdens  that 
weighed  heavily  on  him. 


U  bring  me  to  the 

Iways  put  me  off, 
"But  I  really  \vant 
lOut  many  things  if 
let  me  have  them." 
1  businefas  circles  just 
barrassed  sometimes, 
expect  to  be  all  right, 
your  mother  about 
and  she  is  not  strong 
;  but  I  have  of  late 
ness  matters." 
aid  Grace ;  "  for  now 
•al  and  careful.  Poor 
,  you  have  so  many 

:o  say,  with  such  a 
ard,  looking  fondly  at 
is  side. 

Maynard  to  say,  and 
ure  at  the  words.  A 
fbrracd  between  father 
jred  that  her  father 
1  her,  and  resolved  to 
»,  that  when  she  had 
•ose,  he  had  been  in- 
bearing    burdens   that 


KED  MAYNARD. 


131 


Mr.  Maynard  thought,  as  he  turned  to  his  writing 
again,  "  Wliat  a  change  there  is  in  Grace  I  She  thinks 
of  every  one  but  herself  now." 

Through  Carl  Hoffman,  Ned  was  able  to  get  a 
second-hand  viohn,  and  enters  i  witli  ardor  on  his 
new  pursuit  Contrary  to  his  father's  predictions  he 
did  not  give  it  up,  but  kept  on  faithfully  practising, 
and  took  real  pains  to  improve.  Grace  felt  well  satis- 
fied with  the  results  of  the  experiment. 

She  had  still  another  plan,  about  the  success  of 
which  she  felt  even  more  anxious.  She  and  Ethel 
iiad  talked  over  matters,  and  decided  to  have  a  reading 
dub,  which  should  include  just  a  few  of  their  most  in- 
timate friends.  Grace  was  particularly  anxiotts  to 
have  Ned  join  this.  When  she  spoke  to  him  about  it, 
however,  he  at  first  flatly  refused.  "  What  do  I  care 
about  readings,  and  that  sort  of  thing?"  he  said. 

"  fiut  do  come,  just  this  once,  Ned.  Ethel  sent  you 
a  special  invitation ;  and  we  have  refreshments  after- 
ward, and  I  think  it  will  be  a  very  pleasant  evening. 

Whether  it  was  the  invitation,  or  the  prospect  of 
refreshments,  or  both,  it  was  not  known.  Suffice  it 
to  say  that  Ned  concluded  to  go,  and  the  appointed 
evening  found  him  at  the  Gladwyns',  in  com{)any  with 
his  sister.  At  first  he  felt  somewhat  like  a-fish  out  of 
water ;  but  there  was  something  so  genial  and  unaf- 
fected in  the  Gladwyn  circle  that  it  was  impossible  not 
to  be  influenced  by  it,  and  Ned's  embarrassment  and 
shyness  passed  away  in  spite  of  himself.     He  was 


'^X, 


133 


TURBB  GIRLS. 


somewhat  surprised  to  find  that  Mr.  Gladwyn  was  an 
active  member  of  the  reading  circle,  and  took  as 
much  interest  in  it  m  any  one. 

After  the  readings  were  finished,  and  conversation 
became  general,  Mr.  Gladwyn  managed  to  have  achat 
with  Ned,  taking  the  opportunity  to  ask  how  he  was 
getting  on  with  his  music.  "  I  hope  you  will  be  able 
to  play  for  us  some  time  soon ;  it  would  add  very 
feuch  to  the  pleasure  of  our  gatherings." 

Ned  felt  pleased  at  the  thought  that  there  was  some 
part  he  could  take  in  making  these  evenings  pass 
pleasantly,  and  resolved  to  practice  more  ail  igentlytlian 

ever 

On  their  way  home,  Grace  said,  "  How  did  you  like 

it,  Ned?" 

"Oh,  well  enough,"  was  the  answer,  somewhat 

carelessly  given.  ,    u  j 

But,  though  Ned  chose  to  appear  indifferent,  he  had 
really  felt  keenly  interested.  New  thoughts  had  been 
awakened ;  now  ambitions  aroused.  The  opinion  and 
views  of  ilia  own  set  did  not  look  very  well  when  he 
contrasted  them  with  those  of  the  circle  with  which 
he  had  found  himself  that  evening.  From  that  time 
on  he  became  a  reguUr  attendant  at  the  meetings  of 
the  rea.ling  circle,  and  began  to  take  a  lively  interest 
in  them.  As  a  result  some  trashy  literature  found  its 
way  into  the  fire;  a  result  which  would  have  made 
Grace  truly  glad,  if  she  had  only  known. 


r.  Gladwyn  was  an 
sircle,  and  took  an 

d,  and  oonveraation 
aaged  to  have  achat 

to  ask  how  he  was 
ope  you  will  be  able 

it  would  add  very 
srings." 

;  that  there  was  some 
these  evenings  pass 
5  more  ail  igently  than 

1,  "  How  did  you  like 

e  answer,  somewhat 

ear  indifferent,  he  had 
ew  thoughts  had  been 
ed.  The  opinion  and 
ok  very  well  when  he 
the  cimle  with  which 
ng.  From  that  time 
it  at  the*  meetings  of 
take  a  lively  interest 
hy  literature  found  its 
ich  would  have  made 
y  known. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


FAKNIE  WELDON. 


WHILE  Ethel  and  Qraoe  were  busy  with  a  round 
of  duties  and  engagements,  their  friend,  Fannie 
Weldon,  was  passing  through  a  very  different  experi- 
ence. 

Thebummer  vacation  had  not  done  all  for  the  young 
student  that  she  had  hoped.  Not  that  she  did  not  have 
a  pleasant  summer.  It  was  simply  delightful ;  hut  her 
very  enjoyment  of  it  led  her  far  beyond  her  strength. 

Mrs.  Lane,  Funnie's  aunt,  was  not  a  strong  woman, 
and  she  had  by  degrees  come  to  lean  on  the  young 
girl  who,  ever  since  her  mother's  death,  had  made  her 
home  with  her  uncle  and  aunt. 

Fannie  went  out  with  her  little  cousins  on  the  shore, 
and  took  thera  in  bathing ;  and  on  rainy  days,  when 
their  noise  made  their  mother's  head  ache,  she  inve:ited 
games  and  told  stories  to  amuse  them.  But  there 
was  other  work  for  rainy  days  also ;  for  Fannie  did 
most  of  her  own  dressmaking,  and  took  advantage  of 
the  holidays  to  put  her  wardrobe  in  order.  So  she  had 
brought  with  her  a  good  supply  of  sewing. 

Then  scarcely  a  week  passed  without  a  picnic,  for 
many  of  their  friends  came  out  to  see  them.  And 
there  was  baking  to  be  done  and  other  preparations  to 

188 


'4, 


134 


THKEK  niRLA. 


be  made ;  and  Fannie  flew  from  one  thing  to  another 
in  a  whirl  of  excitement,  which  she  so  thoroughly 
enjoyed  that  she  never  stopped  to  consider  whether  or 
not  she  was  tired.  A  little  study,  of  course,  she  must 
sandwich  among  the  other  things.  So  the  bright  July 
days  passed.  Then  the  close  days  of  August  came, 
and  even  at  the  sea-shore  the  air  was  heavy  and 
warm. 

Then  Fannie  suddenly  found  all  work  sc  much 
harder  than  it  had  been  before.  She  had  to  force  ber- 
■elf  to  her  accustomed  duties.  The  children  bothered 
her,  sewing  worried  her,  study  had  never  seemed  so 
irksome. 

At  last,  near  the  end  of  their  stay,  Fannie  was 
taken  ill.  There  seemed,  however,  nothing  alarming 
in  her  illness,  and  her  aunt  was  surprised  when  she 
pleaded  to  be  taken  home.  "  Why,  child,  it  is  only  a 
bilious  attack ;  you  will  be  better  in  a  day  or  two." 

But  Fannie  did  not  gut  better  in  a  day  or  two,  and 
when  a  doctor  was  consulted  he  looked  serious,  and 
advised  immediate  removal  to  her  town  home. 

So  they  took  her  home,  and  the  family  physician 
was  called  in.  Mrs.  Lane  was  thoroughly  alarmed 
now,  for  Fannie  lay  moaning  and  tossing  on  her  bed, 
in  a  semi-conscious  state.  Dr.  Lyons,  when  questioned 
looked  grave,  and  said  he  feared  it  was  meningitis, 
but  that  it  might  not  be. 

His  fears  came  true.  For  days  Fannie  tossed  in 
restless  delirium,  her  one  piteous  cry  being,  "  Take  me 


wsmmmmmm 


mammmmamsmmmmmBm 


^mmmssmmmmm. 


i^w^^^^ 


T 


e  thing  to  another 
the  80  thoroughly 
onsider  whether  or 
if  course,  she  must 
So  the  bright  July 
I  of  August  came, 
ir  was  heavy  and 

ill  work  St  much 
he  had  to  force  Iter- 
e  children  bothered 
1  never  seemed  so 

stay,  Fannie  was 
p,  nothing  alarming 
surprised  when  she 
y,  child,  it  is  only  a 
in  a  day  or  two." 
a  a  day  or  two,  and 
looked  serious,  and 

town  home, 
be  family  physician 
thoroughly  alarmed 

toming  on  her  bed, 
ons,  when  questioned 
i  it  was  meningitis, 

rs  i'annie  tossed  in 
ory  being,  "  Take  me 


•rx-rr-i^ii  •  V.l  L....^...JUIJ..X.J  JtL ..!  1. 


Three  OlrU  and  Their  Motto. 


Pkge  13«. 


FANNIE  WFXDON. 


135 


home — pleam,  take  mo  borne."  For  days  the  struggle 
botween  life  und  death  waged  fiercely ;  and  when  at 
length  returning  consciouBneM  brought  to  Fiinnio  the 
knowledge  that  life  had  oonqu'-red,  ahe  jould  almost 
have  wished  it  otherwise,  so  weak  and  iniserablo  did 
she  feel. 

It  seemed  bo  strange  to  V  unable  to  do  anything 
but  to  lie  passive  and  be  waited  upon  ;  to  feel  at  every 
movement  that  she  had  a  back,  and  to  be  so  tired  wlien 
people  came  in  and  talked !  And  then  to  know  that 
all  this  must  go  on  for  weeks — even  to  be  afraid, 
sometimes,  that  it  might  bo  always  so.  Oh,  it  was 
hard,  very  hard  for  the  young  girl,  who  only  a  few 
weeks  before  had  looked  forward  with  joyous  antici- 
pations to  life  and  its  duties ! 

Fannie  said  little  in  the  presence  of  her  Aunt.  She 
would  V  add  to  her  care  by  complaining,  but  in  her 
heart  shu  fretted.  She  could  not  be  reconciled  to  this 
strange  providence. 

It  was  a  bright,  lovely  winter  afternoon  when  Ethel 
and  Grace  visit*^  their  sick  friend.  They  had  often 
called  to  inquire  after  her,  but  Fannie  had  not  been 
well  enough  to  see  them  before.  Now  they  were 
ushered  into  the  shaded  bed-room,  where  in  a  large 
easy-chair  sat,  or  rather  reclined,  the  invalid,  wrappe<l 
in  shawls,  and  supported  by  pillows.  Could  that  be 
Fannie,  so  worn  and  white,  her  face  bearing  unmistak- 
able trace4  of  suffering.  Yes,  it  was  Fannie,  but  how 
changed  I     The  tears  rushed  to  Etht'l'is  eyes  as    she 


136 


THBEE  QIRI^. 


pressed  the  thin,  white  hand  hehl  out  to  greet  her,  bnd 
looked  down  on  the  face  that  brightened  with  its  ac- 
customed smile  of  welcome. 

Mrs.  Lane  left  the  girls  to  themselves,  kno\ving 
that  they  would  like  to  have  a  chnt  together.  Fannie 
recalled  that  summer  afternoon  when  they  three  had 
sat  together,  and  dreamed  bright  dreams  of  the  future. 
They  had  not  been  together  since. 

'*  Do  you  remember,  Ethel,"  she  said,  "  how  we 
talked  about  seeking  the  kingdom  of  God?  I  did 
think  then  that  I  would  do  much,  so  much  for  God, 
some  day.  And  now,  with  u  heart  just  as  eager 
and  as  anxious  for  work  as  ever,  I  can  do  nothing ; 
am  only  a  burden  to  the  very  ones  I  fain  would  help. 
Isn't  it  hard  ?  I  know  you  would  say  that  my  friends 
don't  think  it  a  burden  to  care  for  me,  and  no  one 
oould  he  kinder  than  aunt.  But  I  want  to  be  doing  ; 
it  is  hard  to  lie  still." 

"  Now  don't  fret,  Fannie ;  it  will  only  make  you 
feel  worse.    You  will  soon  be  well  again,"  said  Grace. 

"  I  know  I  ought  not  to  fret ;  I  say  so  to  myself  a 
dosen  times  a  day.  Yet,  in  fact,  I  have  nothing  else 
to  do.  I  am  not  allowed  to  read  or  work,  end  I  do 
not  sleep  well.  What  can  I  do  but  think  ?  And  is 
it  not  natural  sometimes  to  fret.  Besides,  I  often  fear 
I  shall  never  be  well  and  strong  again." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  think  that,  Fannie.  I  do  not 
wonder  that  you  are  discouraged.  I  know  T  should  not 
be  half  so  patient  if  I  were  in  your  circumstances.   But 


t  to  greet  her,  bnd 
ened  with  its  ao- 

oaselves,  knowing 
together.  Fannie 
en  they  three  had 
>ani9  of  the  future. 

said,  "how  we 

of  God?    I  did 

K)  much  for  God, 

art  just  as  eager 

can  do  nothing; 

I  fain  would  help, 
say  that  my  friends 
'  me,  and  no  one 
want  to  be  doing  ; 

II  only  make  yon 
again,"  said  Grace. 
say  so  to  myself  a 
have  nothing  else 
jr  work,  end  I  do 
t  think?  And  is 
lesides,  I  often  fear 
;ain." 

Pannie.     I  do  not 

know  I  should  not 

tircumstances.  But 


FANNIE  WKLIWr. 

.  y«u  will  be  better  soon,  I  am  sure,"  said  Grace,  smiling 
so  brightly  that  the  patient  smiled  a  little  too. 

"  I  am  telling  you  my  discouraged  feelings,"  said 
Fannie.  *'  I  don't  tell  them  to  everybody,  but  I  felt 
I  must  tell  them  to  you  and  get  some  help.  It  seems 
strange  to  me,  sometimes,  when  I  am  so  desirous  to  do 
good  work  in  the  world,  and  there  is  so  much  to  he 
done,  and  such  need  of  workers,  that  I  should  be  laid 
aside  so  completely." 

"  There  is  one  thing  to  think  of,  Fannie,"  said  Ethel, 
"  that  is,  that  no  one,  sick  or  well,  can  be  shut  out  from 
seeking  God's  kingdom ;  for  you  know  that  other  verse 
says, '  The  kingdom  of  God  is  righteausnes.^,  and  peace, 
and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost.*  You  can  seek  after  those 
things  as  well  as  we." 

Fannie,  turning  her  large  eyes  thoughtfully  toward 
Ethel,  responded,  "  I  can  cultivate  the  passive  virtues, 
as  Mr.  Clifford  calls  them.  And  they  are  the  hardest, 
he  says.  Indeed,  they  are  so  hard  to  me  that  I  often 
feel  I  cannot."  There  she  paused  ;  for,  deep  in  the 
recesses  of  her  heart,  she  heard  a  still  small  voice  say, 
"  I  can  d.  all  things  through  Christ,  which  stnngth- 
eneth  me."  And  she  wondered  whether  she  had  any 
right  to  say,  "  I  cannot." 

Ethel,  noticing  the  pause,  and  fearful  of  wearying  her, 

rose  to  go. 

"  Must  you  go  ?  "  said  Fannie. 

«  We  have  stayed  long  enough  to-day,  dear ;  we 
must  not  tire  you.    Try  not  to  be  discouraged,"  she 


I 

3 


:1 

.1 


il 
J 


% 


THREE  OIRIJ9. 

added,  as  she  leaned  over  for  a  parting  kiss.  "  You 
will  do  work  when  the  right  time  comes,  and  remember 
that  time  *  will  never  come  too  late.* " 

As  an  answer,  Fauuie  only  presseil  her  friend's 
band  tightly  in  her  own,  and  smiled  through  her 
tears. 

Ethel's  words  started  new  thoughts  in  the  young 
invalid,  and  at  once  she  formed  the  purpose  to  pray 
daily  that  she  might  help  in  tlie  upbuilding  of  Christ's 
kingdom  by  her  patience,  faith,  and  love.  But  her 
faith  and  patience  were  to  be  yet  sorely  tried.  Aa  she 
began  to  gain  '•J-^ngth  she  took  the  notion  that  it  only 
required  an  exen  luj  of  determination  on  her  part  in 
order  to  be  as  well  as  ever, 

"  I  have  just  made  up  my  mind  to  be  well,"  she 
said.  "  And  I  am  not  going  to  be  put  back  by  every 
ache  and  pain  I  feel."  So  she  insisted  on  doing  a 
little  serving  for  her  aunt ;  told  the  children  stories 
when  they  came  to  her  room  on  dull  afternoons,  and 
even  sometimes  peejied  into  her  school  books,  heeding 
no  warning  of  aching  back  or  head.  "  I  ought  to  be 
able  to  do  something  now,"  she  said  to  herself  j  "  aud 
I  will,  no  matter  how  I  feel." 

She  kept  up  with  so  much  outward  show  of  cheer- 
fulness that  her  aunt  really  thought  her  much  better, 
and  being  very  busy  hersielf  began  to  forget  that  Fan- 
nie had  so  lately  been  an  invalid. 

Suddenly  the  young  'girl  was  taken  down  again. 
She  had  to  give  up  and  lie  in  a  darkened  room,  her 


»-'aU-^>^»tA. ->  I  --■'■'>■-  ■'■■'  ■-■■.-I.-.-.....    --.j:^A'.:--.y^^'-..  ,,,vj^^  ,^  ,.-^,...  L -.-.-.^  .. 


^i.-!,^  Mill  u^.rMU.1,^^.,  •j.mm^^ 


,iiig  kiss.    "You 

les,  and  remember 
» 

isaed  her  fViend'fl 
liled  through  her 

;hts  in  the  young 
purpose  to  pray 
uildingof  Christ's 
d  love.  But  her 
•ely  tried.  Aa  she 
notion  that  it  only 
tn  on  her  part  in 

to  be  well,"  she 
put  back  by  every 
dated  on  doing  a 
le  children  stories 
11  afternoons,  and 
ool  books,  heeding 
"  I  ought  to  be 
1  to  herself;  "  and 

,rd  show  of  cheer- 

her  much  better, 

to  forget  that  Fan- 


aken  down  i^in. 
arkcned  room,  her 


FAKNIE  WELDON. 


13» 


head  aching  wildly.    "Oh,  doctor,  when  shall  I  be 
well  again  ?  "  she  moaned. 

"Never,"  was  his  reply,  "unless  you  make  up  your 
mind  to  take  better  care  of  yourself  in  the  future  than 
you  have  done  in  the  past." 

Fannie  could  entertain  no  thought  except  that  of 
obedience  to  the  suggestion;  yet  she  grew  sadly  dis-^ 
oouraged. 


'  •.  ,■«■ 


»■ 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


H 


AFTBB  UAMY  DAYS. 

a  RACE  was  much  pleased,  as  the  winter  went  oDj 
to  find  that  her  plans  for  Ned  were  proving 
successful.  He  took  a  lively  interest  in  his  father's 
business,  and  seemed  determined  to  make  the  most  and 
the  best  of  himself.  Yet  withal,  Grace  felt  anxious, 
for  she  knew  her  brother  was  without  the  true  safe- 
guard of  youth,  since  he  had  not  given  himself  to  God. 
She  often  tried  to  persuade  him  to  go  with  her  to 
prayer  meeting,  but  always  in  vain. 

A  season  of  special  interest  came  in  the  church; 
many  were  broupht  in,  but  Ned  remained  still  outside, 
apparently  not  even  drawing  near  to  the  kingdom  of 
God.  Grace  felt  disheartened ;  perhaps  it  was  well 
that  she  did,  for  it  led  her  to  prayer  and  dependence  on 
God.  And  "  '  she  prayed  that  Christ's  kingdom  might 
come  into  the  heart  of  her  brother,  it  made  her  more 
careful  to  watch  her  own  life,  lest  she  should  cast  a 
stumbling-block  in  his  way ;  and  so  keeping  near  heir 
Saviour,  she  grew  in  humility,  gentleness,  and  kindness 
from  day  to  day. 

Ned  was  not  altogether  so  unimpressed  as    he 
appeared  to  be.    There  were  times  when  he  wished  to 
be  a  Christian,  but  his  careless  ct^mpanions   had    a 
140 


e  winter  went  on, 
6(1  were  proving 
}t  in  his  father's 
nake  the  most  and 
race  felt  anxious, 
>ut  the  true  safe- 
m  himself  to  God. 
0  go  with  her  to 

le  in  the  church ; 
ained  still  outside, 
)  the  kingdom  of 
irhaps  it  was  well 
and  dependence  on 
t's  kingdom  might 
it  made  her  more 
she  should  cast  a 
>  keeping  near  heir 
mess,  and  kindness 


impressed  as  he 
when  he  wished  to 
mpanions   had 


▲FT£B  MANY  DAYS. 


141 


strong  hold  on  him,  and  he   avoided — he   scarcely 
knew  why — those  who  might  have  l>een  a  help  to 

him. 

It  happ<med  that  spring  thai  Shirley  Bean  ca'ne 
home  for  a  visit.  Siiirley  had  gone  away  two  ye^TR 
before  to  enter  his  uncle's  dry  goods  establishment. 
He  had  done  well  in  the  great  city,  and  already  occupied 
a  good  position  ;  but  that  was  not  all  that  could  be 
said  of  him.  One  of  the  first  things  he  di  J  after  reaching 
his  new  home  wa«.  ^o  send  for  his  letter  of  dismission, 
snd  unite  with  the  church  there :  and  soon  he  became 
an  active  member.  So  it  might !«  said  of  him  that 
he  was  not  simply  diligent  in  business,  but  also  "  fer- 
vent in  spirit,  serving  the  Lord." 

Shirley  had  had  a  hard  winter.  There  had  been 
extra  work  for  him  to  do  outside  of  his  own  depart  ment. 
He  was  one  who  did  not  spare  himself;  so  it  was  no 
wonder  that  when  spring  came  he  was  worn  out.  His 
uncle  consequently  gave  him  leave  of  absence,  and  he 
came  home  to  rest. 

But  what  had  all  this  to  do  with  Ned?  Certainly 
Ned  did  not  think  when  he  heard  that  Shirley  Dean 
W8.  coming  home  that  it  was  a  matter  of  very  much 
importance  to  him,  and  yet  such  a  little  thing  as  that 
wrs  to  turn  the  current  of  his  life.  The  acquaintance 
between  them  had  been  slight,  for  Shirley  was  older 
than  Ned  by  several  years.  Ned  thought  that  two 
years  of  city  life  might  have  made  Shirley  forget  him  ; 
so  he  was  agi-eeably  surprised  and  highly  pleased  to 


I 
I 


142 


THREE  OIRLB. 


receive  a  very  friendly  greeting  when  they  ohanoed  to 
meet. 

Shh'ley  was  very  much  interested  to  hear  that  Ned 
was  in  his  father's  oifioe ;  and  by  his  kindly  manner 
he  won  Ned's  heart  completely. 

Shirley  had  come  home  to  rest,  but  he  had  no  wish 
to  rest  from  work  for  the  Master.  His  heart  went  out 
toward  the  unconverted  youth  of  the  town,  and  he 
proposed  to  the  young  men  of  the  church  to  hold  a 
prayer  meeting  among  themselves.  This  suggestion 
was  adopted. 

The  first  meeting,  though  not  large,  was  a  good  one. 
Hearts  were  stirred  with  the  desire  to  do  something 
for  the  salvation  of  others,  and  each  one  promised 
to  try  and  brirg  another  to  the  next  meeting.  Shirley 
himself  was  active  in  this  work  of  bringing  in  others. 
Ned  was  among  the  first  ones  whom  he  asked.  Now 
Ned  would  have  said  "  no  "  to  any  one  else,  but  he  did 
not  like  to  refuse  Shirley,  and  promised  to  go  almost 
before  he  knew  it ;  then  he  wondered  how  he  had  come 
to  give  his  consent. 

Perhaps  he  had  never  felt  so  queerly  as  when  he 
walked  in  the  direction  of  the  church  the  following 
Tuesday  evening.  It  was  surely  not  possible  that  he, 
Ned  Maynaid,  was  going  to  a  prayer  meeting. 
When  he  came  near  the  church,  he  walked  up  and 
down  for  a  time,  not  liking  to  go  in ;  often  he  was  on 
the  point  of  turning  away. 

Just  then  Shirley  came  along.    "  Glad  to  seo  yon, 


iMMnnn 


D  they  ohanoed  to 

to  hear  thut  Ned 
\B  kindly  manner 

it  he  had  no  wish 
lis  heart  went  out 
the  town,  and  he 
church  to  hold  a 
This  suggestion 

;e,  was  a  good  one. 

to  do  something 
ich  one  promised 

meeting.  Shirley 
)ringing  in  others. 
n  he  asked.  Now 
}ne  else,  but  he  did 
lised  to  go  almost 
1  how  he  had  come 

ueerly  as  when  he 
rch  the  following 
)t  possible  that  he, 
prayer  meeting, 
le  walked  up  and 
1 ;  often  ho  was  on 

'  Olad  to  sec  yon, 


ArrEB  MAKY  DAYS. 


143 


Ned,"  he  said.  "  Come  right  in.  We  meet  in  the 
Bible-class  room."  Ned  followed  him,  and  found  him- 
seli  in  a  religious  meeting.  * 

That  little  meeting  made  a  deep  impression  on  Ned's 
mind.  The  influence  of  it  followed  him,  and  the  next 
Tuesday  found  him  there  again.  He  felt  less  curi- 
osity this  time  as  to  who  would  take  part  in  the 
service,  for  now  his  heart  iiad  room  but  for  one  earnest 
desire,  and  that  was  to  know  and  expericLce — what 
these  young  friends  seemed  to  possess — peace  with 
God  and  joys  suoit  as  the  world  could  not  give.  It 
was  not  very  hard  in  that  little  gathering  to  confess 
this  desire.  After  the  meeting  was  over,  a  talk  with 
Shirley  proved  helpful,  and  that  night  it  might  have 
been  said  of  Ned — "  behold  he  prayeth." 

How  glad  Grace  would  have  been  if  she  could  have 
known ;  but  as  it  was,  she  prayed  with  a  faith  that 
often  wavered,  a  heart  that  sometimes  fainted,  because 
as  she  thought  the  answer  did  not  come. 

Daring  two  weeks  her  anxieties  had  been  awakened 
afresh ;  for  Ned  seemed  to  have  lost  interest  in  every- 
thing, even  the  violin.  He  was  absent-minded,  and 
she  knew  something  troubled  him,  but  she  could  not 
find  out  what  it  was.  Her  heart  grew  fearful.  Was 
he 'being  led  farther  astray?  At  that  thought  she, 
with  renewed  earnestness,  lifted  up  her  heart  to  God 
for  him.  It  was  quite  a  surprise  for  her,  therefore, 
when  one  day  Miss  Fairley,  one  of  the  Sunday-school 
teachers,  said : 


%, 


144 


THUEE  aiRUB. 


5i 


"I  am  60  glad  Ned  is  interested  in  religious 
mvctera!" 

"  I  did  not  know  it,"  said  Grace. 

"  Why,  yea ;  he  rose  in  the  prayer  meeting  which 
the  boys  have  among  themselves,  the  other  night,  Fred 
told  me." 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Grace.  "  Ned  is  so  reticent,  be 
never  even  told  me  he  went  to  the  meetings." 

At  first  Grace  felt  that  her  brother  might  have  told 
her  of  his  feelings.  But  she  soon  reasoned  herself  out 
of  that.  Ned  was  naturally  reservetl,  she  knew  j  and 
if  he  sought  and  found  help  from  others,  why  need 
she  mind,  so  long  as  the  prayer  of  her  heart  wes  an- 
swered. She  wisely  resolved  that  she  would  let  Ned 
speak  to  her  first.  She  felt  sure  he  would  tell  her  of 
his  interest  when  he  was  ready. 

The  following  Tuesday  evening  Grace  was  seated 
at  the  piano,  her  fingers  wandering  idly  over  the  keys, 
when  Netl  came  in  w»d  stiK)d  by  her.  There  was  a 
gladness  in  his  face  such  as  his  sister  had  never  seen 
there  before.  Her  eyes  met  his  questioningly ;  then 
she  said : 

"  Have  you  not  seme  good  news  to  tell  me  to- 
night?" 

"  Yes,  Gi-aoe,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  given  my 
heart  to  the  Saviour,  and  I  am  going  to  try  and  serve 
him  faithfully." 

"Oh,  Ned,"  said  Grace,  joyfully,  "it  seems  almost 
too  good  to  be  true.    And  yet  I  know  it  is  true ;  God 


stetl    in    religiooB 


yer  meeting  which 
e  other  night,  Fred 

ed  is  80  reticent,  be 
meetings." 
er  might  have  told 
easoned  herself  out 
stl,  she  knew ;  and 
1  others,  why  need 
her  heart  was  an- 
ihe  would  let  Ned 
i  would  tell  her  of 

;  Grace  was  seated 
idly  over  the  keys, 
her.  There  was  a 
er  had  never  seen 
[uestioningly ;  then 

ws  to  tell  me  to- 

'I  have  given  my 
ng  to  try  and  serve 

T,  "  it  seems  almost 
now  it  is  true ;  God 


ArrER  MANY  DAYS. 


r46 


has  answered  my  prayers,  though  I  have  often  been 
unbelieving.  Now  we  can  walk  in  the  Christian  way 
together. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ned,  "  though  you  are  far  ahead  of  me, 
for  I  am  but  just  b^inning.  And,  Grace,  I  have 
been  thinking  that  I  tried  you  very  much  oftentimes. 
I  am  afraid  I  used  to  try  and  provoke  you  just  because 
I  knew  you  were  trying  to  be  good.  Will  you  forgive 
me?" 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  Ned  ;  if  you  only  knew  how 
often  I  have  wished  I  was  a  better  sister  to  you — ! " 

"  I  am  sure  there  could  not  be  a  better  sister,"  replied 
Ned.  "  Do  you  know,  Grace,  I  used  to  think  you  were 
not  a  Christian ;  but  when  you  gave  up  going  to  that 
ball  at  the  Leslies'  I  felt  sure  you  had  the  real 
thing ;  for  I  knew  you  were  fond  of  gaieties.  And 
since  then  I  have  thought  more  about  religious  things 
than  I  ever  did  before." 

At  that  moment  Grace  felt  how  small  had  been  her 
self-denial,  how  great  her  reward  I 


<^ 


.,if- 


if'  ■' 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Ethel's  visit. 

rpHE  month  of  April  had  come,  and  Ethol  was 
1     looking  forward  with   very  pleasant  anticipa- 
tions to  spending  a  few  weeks  with  her  aunt  and 
cousins  in  New  York.    To  ons  who  had  lived  all  her 
life  in  a  quiet  little  town,  and  who  had  never  seen  a 
laree  eitv,  such  u  visit  seemed  quite  an  event.     JtUl, 
as  the  time  drew  near,  Ethel  almost  wished  she  was 
not  going.     She  wondered  if  she  could  content  herse  f 
for  eiglit  long  weeks  away  from  her  own  happy  family 
cirdo.    A  d.  i^en  times  a  day  fhe  caught  up  little 
Clarence,  and  hugge<l  and  kissed  him,  declaring  she 
did  not  know  what  she  would  do  without  him     As 
to  the  children,  they  thought  that  to  part  with  Ethel 
for  so  long  a  time  was  dreadful.  . 

It  happened  very  fortunately  for  Ethel,  that  some 
acquaintances  were  going  to  New  York  early  in  April, 
an  1  it  was  arranged  that  she  should  travel  with  them. 
The  dav  fixed  for  h*"-  departure  came  at  last,  and 
8he  was  accompanied  to  the  train  by  a  merry  party 
including,  besides  her  brothers  and  sisters,  Grace  and 
Aggie  Maynard.  So  many  last  messages  as  there 
were  to  be  given  I  Such  good-bye.  and  hand  shak- 
ings, with  merry  words  interspersed!    Such  charges 

146 


m 


^ 


T 


r. 


ae,  and  Ethol  was 

pleasant  anticipa- 

with  her  aunt  and 

lio  had  lived  all  her 

}  had  never  seen  a 

te  an  event.     Still, 

ysA  wished  she  was 

r>uld  content  herself 

r  own  happy  family 

he  caught  up  little 

him,  declaring  she 

»  without  him.    As 

to  part  with  Ethel 

for  Ethel,  that  some 
York  early  in  April, 
lid  travel  with  them, 
ure  came  at  last,  and 
by  a  merry  party, 
nd  8iflter^,  Grace  and 
it  messages  as  there 
yes  and  hand  shak- 
jrsed !    Such  charges 


mum 


i.npi  mi 


inwmw  m'\  iiiw  .^iiwpiimi<.>piiii  m>^ 


l-.hel'b  visit. 

to  be  sure  aud  write  soon  I  Then  Mr.  Qladwyn  cArae 
with  tickets  and  ba^^ge  checks,  and  Ethel  was  soon 
comfortably  seated  in  the  car  with  her  traveling  com- 
panions, Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hardangcr,  and  Miss  Brant, 
Mrs.  Hardanger's  sister.  A  few  more  words,  a  chorus 
of  good-byes,  as  the  engine  bell  rang,  then  the  train 
glided  out  from  the  station,  the  familiar  faces  vanished, 
and  a  feeling  of  loneliness  came  over  F'.hel  as  she 
thought  how  long  it  would  be  before  she  would  see 
them  all  again. 

However,  Ethel  could  not  indulge  such  feelings, 
for  she  must  converse  with  Miss  Brant,  who  sat  beside 
her ;  and  then  the  rapidly  ohpnging  scenes  continu- 
ally presented  as  the  train  sped  along,  quite  turned 
her  thoughts.  She  was  fond  of  railway  travel,  and 
did  not  become  wearv  as  the  day  wore  on. 

Just  as  twilight  began  to  gather,  the  train  rolled 
into  the  station  at  New  York,  and  Ethel  began  to  feel 
the  nervousness  and  excitement  natural  to  a  young 
and  inexperienced  traveler.  The  ceaseless  clanging 
and  clashing  and  rumbling  that  reverberated  through 
the  building  as  trains  passed  in  and  out ;  the  restless 
tramp  of  feet,  and  the  hum  of  voices  us  psissengers 
went  to  and  fro,  all  served  to  bewilder  her ;  but  out- 
wardly she  appeared  as  calm  as  though  coming  to 
New  York  wad  a  matter  of  every-day  experience. 
It  was,  however,  a  great  relief  when  Mr.  Hardanger 
remarked  : 

"  There  is  Mr.  Wyndham."    And  in  a  few  moments 


%, 


148 


THREB  OIRL8. 


Ethel  had  met  her  cousin.  Quiet,  grave,  with  a  dig- 
niflod  manuer,  yet  withal  very  kind,  always  knowing, 
apparently,  the  right  thing  to  say  and  do, — such  was 
Clarenoe  Wyndham.  He  vfoa  hond  of  the  Wyndham 
household  ;  for  his  father  hud  been  dead  for  some 
wars. 

'«  So  this  is  Ethel,"  he  said.  "  I  am  very  glad  to 
see  you.  Come  this  way ;  the  carriage  in  waiting." 
And  }ie  led  the  way  out  of  the  bustling  station  into  a 
quiet  side  street.  "  I  should  hardly  have  known 
you,"  he  continued.  "  You  were  but  a  child  when 
1  last  saw  you.     Did  you  have  a  pleasant  journey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  enjoyed  it  thoroughly.  And  now, 
I  supjwse,"  she  added,  as  she  seated  herself  in  the 
carriage,  "  I  shall  have  my  first  glimpse  of  New 
York." 

"  Yes,  although  it  is  getting  too  dusky  for  you  to 
see  much  now ;  but  before  many  days  are  over  you 
will,  I  hope,  have  a  l)cttcr  acquaintance  with  it. 
Laura  and  I  are  looking  forward  to  showing  you  all 
the  sights." 

Lights  were  gleaming  out  here  and  there  when  at 
last  they  drew  up  before  the  Wyndham  home. 

"  Here  we  are  at  last,''  said  Clarence.  "  Welcome 
home." 

Ethel  was  speedily  ushered  into  a  pleasant,  cheerful 
sitting  room,  where  an  open  fire  gave  a  cosy  aspect  to 
everything.  Here  gentle  Mrs.  Wyndham  made  her 
feel  at  home  at  once  by  her  kindly  welcome ;  while 


f  1^ 


kthkl'h  vihit. 


149 


grave,  with  a  dig- 
,  always  knowing, 

ind  do, — such  waa 
of  the  Wyndham 

!>i>n  dead  for  aoine 

am  very  glad  to 
rriage  in  waiting." 
itling  station  into  a 
uiUy  have  known 

hut  a  child  when 
ilcasant  journey  ?  " 
>ughly.  And  now, 
ited  herself  in  the 
t  glimpse  of  New 

►  dusky  for  you  to 

days  are  over  you 

quaintanoe  with   it. 

to  showing  you  all 

and  there  when  at 
dham  home, 
arcnce.    "  Welcome 

)  a  pleasant,  cheerful 
rave  a  cosy  aspect  to 
Vyndham  made  her 
idly  welcome ;  while 


Lai  ra,  the  only  daughter,  a  bright,  gay,  and  impul- 
■ive  girl,  insisted  on  removing  her  cousin's  wraps. 
Raying  as  she  did  so  :  "  You  must  come  to  the  fire 
and  warm  yourself.  These  spring  evenings  are  so 
chilly." 

Ethel  was  not  at  all  sorry  to  do  su,  while  she  an- 
swered her  aunt's  inquiries  about  hor  home  circle,  and 
entertained  Laura  with  some  of  the  incidents  of  her 
journey. 

"  And  now,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  after 
they  had  talked  awhile,  "  if  you  feel  thoroughly 
warm,  I  will  ring  for  Mary  to  show  you  to  your 
room." 

A  plcaaant-looking  girl  ap|>eared  in  answer  to  Mrs. 
Wyndhum's  summons,  and  conducted  Ethel  up  a  broad 
flight  of  stairs  to  a  spacious  and  elegantly  furnished 
apartment,  and  then  asked  if  there  was  anything  she 
could  do  for  her.  "  No,  thank  you,"  replied  Ethel, 
who  was  accustomed  to  wait  on  herself,  and  felt  that 
she  would  much  rather  be  alono. 

Then  she  began  to  consider  what  to  wear  that  even- 
ing. Her  wardrobe  was  not  extensive,  but  she  had 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  it  was  in  good  taste; 
so  she  soon  made  her  decision.  An  she  glanced  around 
at  the  elegant  appointments  of  her  room,  and  reflected 
that  this  city  home  was  very  different  in  many  re- 
spects from  her  own,  she  thought :  "  I  wonder  if  I  shall 
do  everything  just  right?"  And  instinctively  she 
began  to  feel  the  trepidation  so  natural  to  W.    But 


%, 


THREE  OIRi;3. 

a  second  thought  came:  "  I  can  try  and  please  Christ 
in  everything."     And  that  thought  brought  an  in- 
ward strength  that  banished  all  vain  and  foolish  fears. 
Ethel  fourd  the  days  passing  very  pleasantly.     Of 
course  there  was  much  to  see,  and  her  aunt  and  cous- 
ins took  her  to  every  place  of  interest,  and  did  all 
they  could  to  make  her  visit  an  enjoyable  one.     It 
was  scarcely  possible,  however,  for  her  to  be  long 
among  them  without  meeting    difficulties;    for  the 
"Wvndhams  had  views  with  regard  to  some  things 
quite  unlike  those  held  by  Ethel.    And  one  day,  the 
following  week,  she  undertook  to  solve  one  of  those 
difficulties,  in  a  way  that  would  satisfy  her  own  con- 
science and  at  the  same  time  gratify  her  friends.     It 
wafc  by  no  means  an  easy  matter. 

That  morning,  at  breakfast,  Clarence  had  mentioned 
that  a  noted  actress  was  io  appear  at  one  of  the  best 

theatres. 

"  Isn't  that  fortunate  ! "  exclaimed  Laura.  "I  am 
so  glad,  Ethel,  that  you  will  have  an  opportunity  t. 
see  and  hear  her."  It  did  not  occur  to  I^ura  that 
her  cousin  might  have  scruples  about  going  to  such 
amusements. 

Ethel  veuturetl  to  say,  sora^jwhat  faintly,  perhaps, 
that  she  did  not  go  to  theatres. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Laura,  •'  you  have  nothing  worth 
going  to  in  that  line  in  Melvin.  Now  that  you  are 
here,  you  must  not  lose  the  opportunity  of  hearing  and 
seeing  all  you  can." 


and  please  Christ 
brought  an  in- 

and  foolish  fears. 

pleasantly.  Of 
er  aunt  and  cous- 
irest,  and  did  all 
ijoyable  one.  It 
T  her  to  be  long 
Bculties;  for  the 
d  to  some  things 
A.iid  one  day,  the 
jlve  one  of  those 
sfy  her  own  con- 
f  her  friends.     It 

Qce  had  mentioned 
it  one  of  the  best 

ed  Laura.  "  I  am 
an  opportunity  t^ 
cur  to  Ijaura  that 
out  going  to  such 

at  faintly,  perhaps, 

lave  nothing  worth 
Now  that  you  are 
nity  of  hearing  and 


Ethel's  visit. 


151 


Ethel  went  on  to  explain,  not  without  some  effort, 
that  she  did  not  go  to  the  theatre  because  she  did  not 
consider  it  was  right  to  do  so. 

"  Why,"  said  Laura,  "  do  you  really  think  it  any 
harm  to  go  ?  "     And  Clarence  put  in  : 

"  We  only  go  to  the  very  best,  of  course ;  and  I  am 
sure  you  would  enjoy  it.  80  you  had  better  lay  aside 
your  scruples  for  once,  Ethel,  and  go  with  us  on 
Wednesday." 

Laura  took  up  the  conversation,  and  as  she  en- 
larged on  the  pleasure  of  seeing  really  good  acting, 
Ethel  felt  atrongly  tempted  to  go  with  them ;  and  be- 
fore she  left  the  break tiist  room  she  had  promised  to 
consider  the  matter. 

"  And  remember,  Ethel,  there  must  be  only  one 
answer,  and  that  must  be  *  yes,'  or  I  shall  be  dread- 
fully disappointed,"  said  Laura.  And  Clarence 
added: 

"  I  am  sure  I  hope  your  decision  will  be  favorable." 

Ethel  passed  out,  and  went  to  her  room  with  a  trou- 
bled heart.  What  might  she  do,  what  ought  she  to 
do  about  the  matter?  The  question  of  inclination 
site  quickly  put  aside,  for  she  had  always  been  taught 
to  think  but  little  of  her  own  wishes.  The  desire  to 
please  •'er  cousins,  who  kindly  wished  to  give  her  all 
the  pleasure  they  could,  weight  more  with  her.  "  It 
surely  could  not  harm  me  for  once,"  she  thought 
"  And  as  to  the  matter  of  influence,  that  certainly 
cannot  signify,  since  no  one  here  knows  me.    But, 


n 


fv 


152 


THREf.  <aiRU3. 


\eii,  what  is  right  is  right,  and  what  iti  wrong  is 
■yerong,  no  matter  where  we  are  and  who  is  influenced 
thereby.  Dear  me,  what  a  puzzle  it  all  is  I  How  I 
wish  I  could  go  and  ask  mother  about  it  1  Yet  I  know 
she  would  say  that  I  must  decide  for  myself." 

Ethel  thought  of  prayer,  and  almost  instinctively 
be;,an  to  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer.  But  when  she 
came  to  the  petition,  "Thy  kingdom  come,"  she 
stopped.  "  It  is  of  no  use  for  me  to  pray  that,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  unless  I  am  determined  to  do  what 
I  can  to  bring  about  its  fulfillment  I  must  place 
myself  on  the  side  of  all  that  is  helping  to  bring 
about  that  kingdom.  I  must  not  put  the  least  grain 
of  influence  on  the  side  of  that  which  hinders.  Now, 
is  the  theatre  helping  or  hindering  that  kingdom?" 
Ah,  there  was  but  one  answer  to  that  question  ;  and 
in  that  moment  Ethel  saw  clearly,  and  once  for  all, 
what  must  be  her  attitude  toward  all  worldly  amuse- 
ments. 

Her  decision  being  made,  but  one  thing  troubled 
her;  and  that  was  having  to  decline  her  cousins' 
proffered  kindness.  The  way,  however,  was  smoothed 
considerably  for  her.  When  Clarence  met  her  later 
in  the  day,  he  said : 

"  About  that  matter  of  going  to  the  theatre,  Ethel, 
do  not  let  our  feelings  or  wishra  in  any  way  interfere 
with  your  doing  just  what  you  think  to  be  right." 

Ethel  appreciated  the  thoughtful  kindness  which 
helped  materially  to  relieve  her  of  her  embarrassment 


what  its  wrong  is 
I  who  ie  influenced 
it  all  is !  How  I 
ut  it !  Yet  I  know 
or  myself." 
Imost  instinctively 
r.  But  when  she 
igdoni  come,"  she 
to  pray  that,"  she 
mined  to  do  what 
ent  I  must  place 
helping  to  bring 
put  the  least  grain 
ich  hinders.  Now, 
g  that  kingdom  ?  " 
hat  question ;  and 
,  and  once  for  all, 
all  worldly  amuse- 

one  thing  troubled 
[ecline  her  cousins' 
rever,  was  smoothed 
ence  met  her  later 

» the  theatre,  Ethel, 
1  any  way  interfere 
nk  to  be  right." 
'ul  kindness  which 
her  embarrassment 


kthel'8  visit. 


163 


"  Thank  you,  Clarence,"  she  said.  "  I  cannot  fed 
it  to  be  right  to  go." 

And  then  she  told  him  very  simply  her  reasons 
for  declining  to  go  to  the  theatre,  namely  :  That  as  a 
member  of  Christ's  kingdom  she  could  not  lend  the 
slightest  influence  or  encouragement  to  that  which  was 
hindering  it 

Clarence  looked  thoughtful.  "  I  have  long  sup- 
posed myself  to  be  a  member  of  that  kingdom,"  he 
said,  "  yet  I  am  afraid  I  never  thought  it  meant  any- 
thing much  excepting  living  a  moral  life,  and  giving 
to  the  support  of  the  church."  Then  he  added  :  "  I 
suppose  that  principle  of  youra  would  apply  to  many 
other  things." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ethel.  "  I  think  it  would  help  one  to 
decide  many  difficult  questions." 

Clarence  said  no  more ;  but  into  a  receptive  heart 
a  new  thought  had  entei'ed,  and  who  could  tell  what 
fruit  that  little  germ  of  truth  might  bear? 

It  was  harder  for  Ethel  to  tell  Laura  her  reason 
for  not  going  to  tiie  theatre  than  ic  had  been  to  tell 
Clarence ;  and  it  was  mure  difficult  for  Laura  than 
for  her  brother  to  see  and  appreciate  it 

Laura  was  a  perfect  contrast  to  her  brother  in  dis- 
position. She  was  gay,  and  fond  of  all  amuseoients 
and  pleasures,  and  often  laughed  at  old  "  sober-sides," 
as  she  persisted  in  calling  Clarence,  declaring  that  she 
would  not  for  the  world  be  so  indifierent  to  all  the 
attractions  of  society.     Clarence  was,  however,  but , 


^ 


154 


THREE  QXRXA 


little  affected  by  his  sister's  lively  sallies,  and  always 
had  an  answer  ready  for  her.  Though  not  particu- 
larly  fond  of  society,  he  did  not  avoid  it,  but  con- 
formed to  all  its  usages  with  great  exactness,  because 
he  believed  it  to  be  the  proper  thing  for  him  to  do. 

On  the  previous  Sunday,  Ethel  had  heard  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  Wednesday  evening  prayer  meet, 
ing  with  a  feeling  of  pleasure,  and  had  determined  to 
go.     Now,  when  Wednesday  came,  she  spoke  of  it  to 

her  aunt,  who  said  :  „    ,  . 

"Certainly,  my  dear.  William  shall  dnve  you 
there;  and  you  shall  not  go  alone.     I  will  go  with 

you."  , 

Ethel  was  equally  surprised  and  pleased  to  have 

her  aunt  accompany  her. 

«  It  is  so  piany  years  since  I  went  to  prayer  meet- 
ing "  said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  as  the  carriage  stopped  at 
the'church  door,  "that  I  believe  you  will  feel  more 
at  home  than  I  will,  Ethel;  so,  after  all,  you  will 
have  to  lead  the  way.  Oh,  there  is  Mr.  Charlton. 
How  fortunate !     He  will  show  us  to  a  seat." 

If  Mre.  Wyndham  felt  that  all  eyes  were  turned 
toward  her,  she  showed  no  consciousness  of  it,  as  she 
followed  Mr.  Charlton  to  a  seat,  and  accepted  With 
her  own  pleasant  smile  and  thanks  a  hymn  book  from 
some  one  sitting  near. 

But,  oh,  the  rush  of  thoughts  that  came  over  her 
as  she  sat  there!  Memories  of  by-gone  days  <»me 
back  fiesJ-.lv  and  vividly  to  her  mind.    Ah,  where 


sallies,  and  always 
bough  not  pardcu- 
;  avoid  it,  but  con- 
t  exactness,  because 
ng  for  him  to  do. 

had  heard  the  an- 
ening  prayer  meet- 
d  had  determined  to 
e,  slie  spoke  of  it  to 

im  shall  drive  you 
je.     I  will  go  with 

and  pleased  to  have 

wrent  to  prayer  meet- 
e  carrii^  stopped  at 
e  you  will  feel  more 
o,  after  all,  you  will 
ere  is  Mr.  Cliarlton. 
us  to  a  seat." 
all  eyes  were  turned 
jiousness  of  it,  as  she 
it,  and  accepted  With 
ks  a  hymn  book  from 

that  came  over  her 
if  by-gone  days  came 
;r  mind.     Ah,  where 


"^PP 


kthel's  visit. 


165 


now  were  the  ard  r  and  devotion  of  those  early  Jays  I 
She  was  awakened  from  her  reverie  by  the  en  ranee 
of  the  minister. 

The  short  addi»ss  that  evening  proved  peculiarly 
helpful  both  to  Mre.  Wyndham  and  Ethel.  The 
speaker's  remarks  were  found<^  on  Mark  8 :  22-26. 
Very  vividly  he  pictured  the  scene  :  The  poor  blind 
man,  led  to  Jesus  by  friends.  The  com  passionate 
Saviour  taking  the  afflicted  man  by  the  hand,  and  ■ 
himself  leading  hiui  through  the  crowded,  narrow 
streets  out  to  the  quiet  fields,  and  there  giving  him 
sight.  What  words  of  love  that  poor,  ignorant  man 
must  have  heard  as  he  walked  hand  in  hard  with  t!  8 
Great  Teacher  I  How  the  eyes  of  his  soul  must  havi 
been  opened  !  "  Just  so,"  the  speaker  went  on,  "  we 
cannot  see  the  way  before  us ;  we  often  know  not  the 
right  way ;  but  our  blessed  Lord  and  Master,  pitying 
us  in  our  weakness  and  blindness,  takes  us  by  the 
hand  and  leads  us." 

The  hymn,  "  He  Leadeth  Me,"  was  sung,  and  then, 
one  after  another  told  how  they  had  been  led,  often 
by  ways  they  had  not  known,  but  ever  in  right  ways, 
Ethel  added  her  word.  She  felt  at  home,  though  all 
around  her  were  strangers;  for  were  they  not  mem- 
bers of  the  same  heavenly  kingdom,  and  serving  the 
same  King  ? 

Mrs.  Wyndham  said  but  little  Ua  they  drove  home- 
ward, yet  while  the  two  sat  together  in  the  library 
*atler  their  return  home,  she  suid  : 


^. 


THRKE  GIRLS. 

"I  used  to  think,  Ethel,  that  your  mother  did  not 
train   her  children  for  society,  sufficiently ;  that  for 
their  sakes  she  ought  to  have  gone  more  into  the 
world.    Now  I  4ee  that  it  was  I  who  made  the  mis- 
take.    I  would  that  my  children  had  been  at  the 
meeting  to-night,  instead  of  where  they  were.    You 
would  scarcely  think  it,  but  once  I  was  a  regular  at- 
tendant at  prayer  and  social  meetings,  and  loved  them. 
My  marriage  brought  me  into  a  circle  more  or  less 
worldly,  though  holding  a  form  of  religion,  and  grad- 
ually the  world  gained  possession  of  my  thoughts,  my 
time,  and  my  affections.    But  after  my  husband  was 
taken  from  me,  then  in  my  sense  of  loneliness  and 
desolation  I  realized  how  little  the  world  could  do  to 
comfort  me,  or  fill  the  aching  void  ;  and  now  I  wi(?h 
that  my  children  had  th*t  in  their  hearts  which  would 
give  abiding  happiness.     I  often  think  thai  if  I  could 
but  see  Laura  an  active,  working  Christian,  how  happy 
I  should  be ;  how  much  anxiety  I  should  be  saved. 
Clarence  is  all  a  son  could  be,  I  ara  sure,  but  he  talks 
sometimes  as  though  he  scarcely  believed  in  Chri  4- 
tianity.     He  is  very  intimate  with  a  young  man  who 
is  quite  skeptical,  and  I  often  fear  for  him.  Ah,  Ethel, 
vou  do  not  know  a  mother's  anxieties.     If  I  had  to 
live  my  life  over  again,  I  would  do  differently.    Now 
it  is  too  late." 

"  No,  dear  aunt,"  said  Ethel.  "  Do  not  think  that 
It  is  even  as  we  heard  to-night.  Jesus  is  leading 
you." 


i""paw."»fw"'«  i.iuipii 


our  mother  did  not 
ufficiently;  that  for 
jone  more  into  the 
who  made  the  mia- 
>n  had  been  at  the 
•e  they  were.    You 
I  was  a  regular  at- 
iigB,  and  loved  them, 
a  circle  more  or  less 
if  religion,  and  grad- 
i  of  my  thoughts,  my 
£T  my  husband  was 
ie  of  loneliness  and 
he  world  could  do  to 
id  ;  and  now  I  wi(?h 
r  hearts  which  would 
think  iliai  if  I  could 
Christian,  how  happy 
f  I  should  be  saved, 
am  sure,  but  he  talks 
ly  believed  in  Chri  j- 
ith  a  young  man  who 
r  for  him.  Ah,  Ethel, 
Kieties.     If  I  had  to 
do  differently.    Now 

«  Do  not  think  that 
ht.    JesuH  is  leading 


bthkl's  visit. 

«  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Wyndhara.  "  Oh, 
if  I  could  be  sure  of  that  I  would  not  feel  so  sad.'*" 

"  I  am  sure  he  is."  And  she  addetl,  softly :  "  I 
believe,  if  we  dsk  him,  he  will  lead  your  dear  ones 

too." 

Mrs.  Wyndhara's  eyes  were  full  of  tean>.  "  Dear 
child,"  she  said,  "  God  grant  it  may  be  so." 

Ethel  felt  happy  and  glad  that  night.  She  had 
been  drawn  nearer  to  her  Saviour ;  for  one  cannot 
give  up  anything  for  Christ's  sake  without  being 
drawn  sensibly  near  to  him. 

Clcrence  scanned  his  cousin  with  a  searching  glance 
as  she  entered  the  breakfast  room  the  next  morning. 
But  he  saw  in  her  »x)untenance  no  sign  of  regret,  not 
even  when  Laura  exclaimed : 

"  Oh,  Ethel,  you  ought  to  have  been  with  us  last 
night.    You  do  not  know  how  much  you  missed." 

°'  In  my  opinion.  Cousin  Ethel  did  not  miss  much," 
her  brother  responded.  "  Neither  the  play  nor  the 
acting  came  up  to  my  expectations." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  much  of  a  critic.  The  dresses 
were  fine,"  remarked  Laura. 

"  And  then  you  saw  Mr.  La  Blanc,"  said  Clarence. 

"Waahe  there?"  said  Mrs.  Wyndbam,  quickly. 
And  Ethel  noted  the  anxiety  in  her  tone. 

"  Yes,  mother  ;  he  occupied  the  box  next  to  ours. 
Hence  Laura's  enjoyment  of  the  play." 

"You  are  simply  absurd,  Clarence,"  ^aid  Laura. 
But  she  blushed  as  she  spoke. 


"  Now,  Ethel,"  said  Clarence,  '*  it  is  time  that  you 
should  give  an  account  of  yo--:elf.  I  should  judge 
from  your  looks  that  you  had  the  best  of  it,  after  all. 
You  were  at  prayer  meeting,  I  believe." 

"  I  did  enjoy  my  evening  very  much.  And  I  thiuk 
aunt  did  too." 

"Why,  mother,  were  you  there  !"  exclaimed  Clar- 
ence, in  surprise.  "  What  is  going  to  happen  ?  I 
believe  Cousin  Ethe)  will  revolutionize  this  house- 
hold yet." 

"  1  do  not  wonder,  ray  son,  at  your  surprise,"  said 
Mrs.  Wyndham,  gently.     "  I  have  felt  since  last  even- 
ing that  had  I  been  more  regular  in  my  attendance  at 
such  meetings,  it  would   have   been   better  for  my 
household.     I  fear  that  tw  long  you  have  seen  in  me 
only  the  form  of  religion."     There  were  teirs  in  her 
eyes  jus  she  spoke,  and  silence  fell  on  all. 
It  was  broken  at  last  by  I-aura,  who  said : 
"  By  the  by,  Ethel,  Mr.  Fulton  was  at  the  play  last 
night.    He  comes  from  Melvin,  I  believe,  and  has 
been  in  the  city  only  a  short  time." 

Ethel  was  only  slightly  acquainted  with  Mr.  Ful- 
ton; but  she  knew  him  as  one  who,  standing  aloof 
from  church-membership  himself,  criticized  professing 
Christians  severely.  She  felt  thankful  that  she  had 
not  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  attend  the  theatre, 
and  thus  add  another  to  his  list  of  inconsistent  Chris- 
tians. 

When  Ethel  and  Laura  were  alone  that  morning, 


T 


"  it  is  time  that  you 
If.    I  should  judge 
!  best  of  it,  after  all. 
ilieve." 
much.  And  I  thiuk 

i !"  exclaimed  Clar- 
)ing  to  happen?  I 
lutionize  this  house- 

your  surprise,"  said 
re  felt  since  last  even- 
in  my  attendance  at 
been   better  for  my 
you  have  seen  in  me 
■re  were  teiirs  in  her 
I  on  all. 
•a,  who  said : 
n  was  at  the  play  last 
I,  I  believe,  and  has 
e." 

ainted  with  Mr.  Ful- 
who,  standing  aloof 
f,  criticized  professing 
hankful  that  she  had 
D  attend  the  theatre, 
of  inconsistent  Chris- 
alone  that  morning, 


Ethel's  visit. 


169 


Laura  said :  "  It  is  perfectly  ridiculous,  the  way 
mother  feels  about  Mr.  La  Blanc.  She  can't  bear  to 
have  me  to  speak  to  him,  I  believe.  Did  you  notice 
how  she  looked  this  morning,  when  Clarence  men- 
tioned him?" 

"  But,  Laura,  you  would  not  encourage  a  friendship 
your  mother  didn't  approve  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  encourage  it,  particularly,  but  I  can't 
help  talking  to  him  when  I  have  the  chance.  I  think 
he  is  i^rfectly  splendid  ;  but  mother  has  '  >.rd  things 
against  him,  and  she  is  so  frightened  i.  <  1  ty  be- 
come too  much  intereftted  in  him.  Th  ver  •  ea  of 
such  a  thing  is  absurd  !  Why,  he  ie  lu  Oj.'  i.urty— 
ever  so  much  older  than  I.  I  wou*  u  L  ».  irry  him, 
even  if  he  should  ask  me.  I  am  r.oi  ii  ov  •  enough 
with  him  for  that." 

But  girls  do  not  always  mean  ah  ,_>  day,  and  from 
the  way  Laura  spoke,  Ethel  thought  that  she  cared 
more  for  Mr.  I^a  Blanc  than  she  wished  to  confess; 
and  as  she  looked  at  the  bright,  happy  young  girl  be- 
fore her,  an  anxiety  akin  to  that  Mrs.  Wyndham  felt 
sprang  up  within  her  heart. 

"  I  believe  you  think  more  of  him  than  you  care 
to  acknowledge,"  said  Ethel ;  "  but  if  your  mother 
has  reason  to  disapprove  of  him,  do  you  not  think  it 
is  a  great  mistake  to  allow  yourself  to  become  so  in- 
terested in  him  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Laura,  doubtfully.  "But  I  think 
mother  is  mistaken.    She  has  a  prejudice  against  him. 


■flp 


160 


THKEE  GIRUS. 


and  is  ready  to  believe  all  she  hears;. and  you  know 
it  does  not  do  to  believe  everything." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Etlwl,  •'  but  I  think  it  is  more 
than  likely  that  the  reports  which  have  reached  your 
mother  are  true.  And,  Laura,  no  one  could  be  more 
anxious  for  the  real  happiness  of  a  daughter  than 
her  mother ;  particularly  such  a  mother  as  you  have." 

Laura  made  no  reply  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
she  said  :  "  Anyway,  motlier  has  herself  to  thank  for 
it;  for  she  was  very  anxious  that  I  should  go  to  Mrs. 
De  Lacy's  ball,  and  that  was  where  1  first  met  Mr. 
La  Blanc.  I  did  not  want  to  go  at  that  time.  I  do 
not  know  what  came  over  me.  A  religious  fit,  I 
suppose.  However,!  went.  Mother  said  it  would 
never  do  to  refuse." 

Ethel  was  silent.  She  was  thinking  how  hard  it 
was  to  undo  past  mistakes.  She  now  understood  her 
aunt's  hopeless,  discouraged  feeling.  But  Ethel's  was 
a  clieerful,  hcpeful  nature,  and  she-  remembered  the 
blessed  words':  "  The  things  which  are  imiwssible 
with  men  are  possible  with  God  ;  with  God  all  things 
are  possible."  And  henceforth  she  made  it  her  con- 
stant prayer  that  God  would  lead  her  cousin  to 
himself. 


mesmmmmm 


wmmm^mBf^mmi 


wmfmamsmmemBm 


8. 

Ears; -and  you  know 

ing." 

>ut  I  think  it  is  more 

h  have  reached  your 

10  one  could  be  more 
of  a  daughter  than 

mother  as  you  have." 
few  moments.  Then 
i  herself  to  thank  for 

1 1  should  go  to  Mrs. 
irhere  1  first  met  Mr. 
[)  at  that  time.  1  do 
le.  A  religi<»us  fit,  I 
dother  said  it  would 

hinking  how  hard  it 
e  now  understood  her 
ing.    But  Ethel's  was 
she*  remembered  the 
which  are  impossible 
;  with  God  all  things 
she  made  it  her  con- 
lead  her  cousin    to 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

K£W  BCE.N£S  AKD  NEW  FBIEl^DS. 

THE  days  passed  quickly  and  pleasantly,  and  Ethel 
felt  really  sorry  when  the  time  came  to  leave, 
though  she  was  glad  to  feel  that  she  would  soon  be 
at  home  again. 

On  her  way  home  she  was  to  stop  at  Slateville,  a 
large  manufacturing  town,  and  spend  two  or  three 
weeks  there  with  the  Carters,  her  mother's  cousins. 

It  was  a  bright  morning  when  Ethel  bade  good- 
bye to  New  York.  Clarence  Wyndham  accompanied 
her  to  the  train,  and  saw  her  comfortably  seated  in  a 
parlor  car.  A  ride  of  a  few  liours  brought  her  to  her 
destination,  where  she  was  met  by  Adelaide,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  the  Carter  family,  who  gave  her  a  hearty 
welcome. 

Ethel  found  the  household  to  which  she  now  came 
very  different  from  that  which  siie  had  just  left.  There 
was  nothing  of  the  repose  here  that  cliaracterized  the 
Wyndham  home;  all  was  bustle  and  stir.  There 
was  always  a  great  amount  of  wovk  on  liand,  and  it 
seemed  trebled  by  the  fact  tiiat  the  Carters  treated 
their  guests  with  the  account  not  only  of  what  they 
were  doing,  but  also  of  what  they  had  done  and 
what  they  intended   to    do.     Still   it   was  a   very 

!•  I6i 


THREE  GIRIA 


br'r^ht  family  circle,  and  till  were  as  kind-hearted 
as  could  bo. 

'i'hcirfuther,  whom  Ethel  hud  never  seen,  wao  a  sea 
captain,  at  prceent  away  on  a  long  voyage.  Mrs.  Car- 
ter was  a  thin,  nervous  little  woman,  who  manage<i  to 
get  through  a  good  deal  of  work  in  spite  of  much 
chronic  ill  health.  Adelaide,  the  eldest  daughter,  had 
a  (juick,  business-like  way  ;  indeed,  Ethel  found  that 
she  was  the  business  manager  of  the  family.  Her 
dress  was  severely  plain,  and  tendeil  to  a  masculine 
•tyle.  Next  to  Adelaide  came  Fay,  a  clever  girl,  very 
entertaining  and  thoroughly  capable ;  and  then  Zella, 
whom  Fay  introduce*!  to  Ethel  us  our  "  pretty  sister, 
whom  wo  allow  to  sit.  in  the  parlor  while  we  do  the 
housework."  But  thougli  the  two  sisters  teased  Zi'lla 
conHiderably  because  she  did  not  like  to  wash  dishes 
for  fear  of  sjK>iling  her  hands,  they  nevertheless  owed 
much  to  her  taste.  It  was  Zella  who  planned  the 
dresses,  trinimid  the  hats,  and  made  the  house  pretty 
with  simple  and  inexpensive  decorations. 

Tiicn  there  was  George,  the  only  brother,  who  was 
younger  thuu  his  sisters.  It  seemed  a  little  singular 
tliat  in  this  stirring,  bustling  family  the  boy  should 
be  the  quietest  of  all ;  but  so  it  was.  George  was 
quiet  and  slow — provokingly  slow,  his  sisters  declared. 
He,  it  seemed,  took  after  the  Carter  side  of  the  family. 

••  It  is  too  bad ! "  said  Adelaide  to  Ethel.  "  If 
George  only  bad  half  the  energy  there  is  in  us  girls, 
he  might  amount  to  something ;  as  it  is,  he  never 


18 


kind-hearted 


r  Bcen,  was  a  »ea 
j-ttgc.  Mr«.  Car- 
who  managwi  to 
I  spite  of  much 
c8t  (laughter,  had 
Ethel  found  that 
he  family.     Her 
I  to  a  masculine 
i  clever  girl,  very 
;  and  tlien  Zella, 
ur  "  pretty  sister, 
while  we  do  the 
listers  teased  Ztlla 
ke  to  wash  dishes 
nevertheless  owed 
who  planned  the 
e  the  house  pretty 
itions. 

brother,  who  waa 
;da  little  singular 
ly  the  boy  should 

was.  George  was 
his  sisters  declared, 
r  side  of  the  family, 
de  to  Ethel.  "If 
there  is  in  us  girls, 
;  as  it  is,  he  never 


NBW  SCBNBB  AND  NEW  FRIBNDS. 


lt>d 


will.  Poor  fellow  I  I  do  not  know  what  we  would 
do  without  him,  either." 

Ethel  had  not  bc(Mi  with  them  long  before  she  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  sisters  would  indeed  vety 
much  miss  their  brother.  He  was  always  ready  to  do 
errands  for  them,  as  well  as  to  help  them  carry  out 
their  plans ;  and  he  had  a  quiet  perseverance  which 
led  him,  when  a  thing  was  committed  to  him,  to  leave 
no  stone  unturned  tmtil  it  was  accomplished.  In  fact, 
ho  was  one  on  whom  they  could  depend.  Though 
not  |)articularly  quick  at  his  studies,  Ethel  fouud  in 
conversingwith  him  that  he  luid  n  thorough  grasp 
of  those  subjects  in  which  he  took  mcmt  interest  In 
fact,  a  little  observation  soon  convtnce<l  her  that  he 
was  not  wanting  in  force  of  character,  but  appeareil 
so  to  his  mother  and  sisters  simply  because  they  could 
not  comprehend  energy  that  was  manifested  in  any 
other  way  than  their  own. 

This  was  just  the  place  to  find  out  the  best  way  of 
doing  thin'.'  <,  and  Ethel  gained  many  valuable  hints 
from  her  busy  cousins ;  while  she,  on  her  part,  took 
a  lively  interest  in  all  their  plans.  It  was  the  busy 
season  with  them — the  time  of  year  when  there  is 
much  to  be  done  within  the  house  as  well  as  without. 
The  girls  had  a  good  deal  of  sewing  on  hand,  and, 
of  course,  Ethel,  having  just  come  from  New  York, 
was  supposed  to  know  all  about  the  latest  styles ;  and 
they  continually  consulted  her  respecting  the  best  way 
of  making  up  their  summer  dresses. 


imt- 


164 


THBEB  GIRLS. 


"There  is  one  person,  Ethel,  I  should  like  to  have 
you  meet  while  you  are  here,"  said  Mrs.  Carter  as 
they  sat  at  work  one  morning;  «  and  that  is  Mrs. 
Allan.     I  am  sure  you  would  like  her." 

«  Yes,  iudeed,  you  would,"  echoed  Ada  and  Fay. 
And  Fay  added:  "  I  want  to  see  her  about  the 
sewing  circle  the  young  people  are  getting  up,  as  they 
have  asked  me  to  be  leader,  or  president,  and  I  wish 
to  get  sorae  hints.  This  is  her  day  for  receiving 
callers.  So,  Ethel,  you  and  I  can  go  this  vevy  after- 
noon. I'll  introduce  you  as  an  active  church  worker, 
and  that  will  be  enough  to  make  you  friends  at  once. 

"  Oh,  pray,  don't  call  me  an  active  worker !  ex- 
claimed Ethel.  "  I  do  not  know  half  so  much  about 
working  as  you  do  here.    I  simply  do  what  I  can. 

"Well  no  one  can  do  any  more,"  returned  J? ay. 
"You  need  not  be  afraid,  little  cousin,  that  you  are 
eoin-  to  meet  any  one  that  will  quite  overawe  you 
and  make  you  feel  very  small.     Margaret  Allan  isn  t 
that  kind  of  a  person.     She  is  just  as  nice  as  she  can 

be" 

*" Did  I  see  her  on  Sunday?"  inquired  Ethel. 

«  No,  she  does  not  attend  the  church  on  the  hill, 
but  is  a  member  of  Harlem  Street  Churcb-a  mission 

interest."  ,       ^^ 

"You  know,  Ethel,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  "when  Mr. 
Allan  brought  home  his  city  bride,  we  all  said  she 
certain  never  would  be  contented  to  attend  Harlem 
Street  Church,  to  which  Mr.  Allan  belonged,  and  in 


uld  like  to  have 
Mrs.  Carter,  as 
nd  that  is  Mrs. 
jr." 

Ada  and  Fay. 
le  her  about  the 
jtting  up,  as  they 
ient,  and  I  wish 
ay  for   receiving 

0  this  vevy  after- 
re  church  worker, 

1  friends  at  once." 
ive  worker ! "  ex- 
ilf  so  much  about 
do  what  I  can." 
!,"  returned  Fay. 
iisin,  that  you  are 
uite  overawe  you, 
argaret  Allan  isn't 
;  as  ni(X  aa  she  can 

iquired  Ethel, 
church  on  the  hill, 
Church — &  mission 

Darter,  "  when  Mr. 
ie,  we  all  said  she 
I  to  attend  Harlem 
n  belonged,  and  in 


NEW  SCENXIS  AXD  NEW   FRIENDS. 


165 


which  he  had  alwayb  taken  quite  an  interest ;  but  we 
were  mistaken.  His  young  wife  sent  for  her  letter  of 
dismission  and  joined  the  mission  church,  and  entered 
heartily  into  its  work.  Many  persons  were  surprised 
that  she  did  not  come  at  least  once  a  day  to  the  church 
on  the  hill ;  but  Mrs.  Allan  felt  that  she  had  been 
called  to  work  in  the  other." 

"  It  is  just  principle  all  through  v/ith  her,"  said 
Fay. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ada,  "  and  it  has  made  such  a  differ- 
ence in  that  church." 

"  Why,  of  course,  it  did,"  said  her  mother.  "  Mrs. 
Allan  took  right  hold  of  the  work,  and  was  thor- 
oughly social  with  the  people ;  and  made  it  her  church 
home,  not  in  name  merely,  but  in  reality." 

Naturally,  Ethel  felt  quite  an  interest  in  one  of 
whom  she  had  heard  so  much,  and  looked  forward 
with  pleasure  to  seeing  her. 

There  was,  as  Fay  had  said,  nothing  in  Mra.  Allan 
to  overawe  one.  Kindly  gray  eyes,  that  shone  out 
beneath  a  noble  brc  ,v,  a  pleasant  smile,  a  genial  man- 
ner,— these  were  the  first  things  thai  engaged  atten- 
tion. One  glance  into  that  face,  and  Ethel  felt  drawn 
10  her ;  and  equally  was  the  mature  woman  attracted 
to  the  young  girl ;  for  kindred  souls  are  ever  thus 
drawn  to  one  another. 

There  were  other  callers  there,  and  after  the  intro- 
duction, while  the  others  were  conversing,  Ethel  had 
an  opportunity  to  take  mental  notes  of  the  surround- 


166 


THREE  OIBI-8. 


ings.    The  first  thing  that  impressed  her  w^  die 
Bim-Ucity  with  which  the  room  was  furnished  and 
its  homelike  air.    There  was  no  attempt  at  display ; 
indeed,  much  of  the  charm  of  the  room  lay  m  Uttle 
touches  such  as  might  be  within  the  ability  of  any  one 
to  make.    A  v'ne  trained  over  the  ardied  doors  a 
pretty  flowering  plant  on  one  li -tie  table,  and  a  few 
flowers  in  a  vase  on  another,  with  other  things,  showed 
a  room  not  fashioned  after  some  jrevailing  style,  nor 
one  that  was  a  mixture  of  thr„^  or  iour  different 
styles;  but  a  homelike  room,  expressing  the  individ- 
ixality  of  the  owner.     All  this  Ethel  observed  before 
the  other  callers  rose  to  take  leave;   after  that,  she 
became  so  much  interested  in  Mrs  Allan  that  she  for- 

got  all  else.  . ,   t«         a.  - 

''What  do  you  think  of  her?  '   suid  Fay,  aft«r 

they  had  left  the  house,  and  were  on  their  homeward 

"  1  think  she  is  simply  charming,"  said  Ethel. 

"That  is  what  every  one  thinks.  I  always  ask 
people  who  meet  her  for  the  first  time  what  is  the  se- 
eret  of  her  charm.    Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you  that 

question."  ,     ,  , 

Ethel  thought  a  moment,  and  the„-  Hi.swe.-ed : 
«  Don't  you  think.  Fay.  it  is  because  she  is  so  inter- 
ested in  others  and  in  everything  that  concerns  them, 
and  seems  not  to  think  of  herself?  " 

«  That  is  a  good  explanation,"  said  Fay.  "  Now  1 
shall  begin  to  act  upon  the  hint  it  contains,  and  from 


•";!,U 


d  her  was  die 
furnished,  and 
mpt  at  display ; 
om  lay  in  little 
bjlity  of  any  one 
arched  doors,  u 
table,  and  a  few 
things,  allowed 
ailing  Style,  nor 
)r  four  different 
ling  the  individ- 
observed  before 
after  that,  she 
ilan  that  she  for- 

said  Fay,  after 
a  their  homeward 

"  said  Ethel. 
:8.    I  always  ask 
ne  what  is  the  se- 
ag  to  ask  you  that 

thej  Hiiswe."^ : 
ise  she  is  so  ioter- 
lat  concerns  them, 

id  Fay.     "  Now  I 
lontains,  and  from 


NEW  SCENES  AND  NEW  FRIENDS. 


167 


this  time  forward  aim  to  show  a  great  interest  iu  other 
people." 

''Ahl  but  don't  foi^et  that  the  interest  must  be 
real,  not  seeming,"  said  Ethel.  "  But  there,  I  need 
not  say  anything  to  you,  for  J.  know  you  take  a  real 
interest  in  others." 

''  Such  as  I  have  may  be  real  enough,  yet  I  take  a 
vast  deal  more  interest  in  myself  than  in  anybody 
else,"  said  Fay,  honestly. 

"  We  are  all  pretty  much  alike  in  that  respect." 

"  Yet  some  do  forget  themselves.  I  wonder  how 
they  do  it?  "  questioned  Fay. 

"  Is  it  not  because  they  study  how  they  can  best 
serve  Christ?  Because  they  are  so  much  taken  up 
with  seeking  to  bring  about  his  kingdom  on  earth 
that  they  have  no  time  to  think  about  themselves  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Fay.  But  though  she 
assented  to  it,  the  truth  did  but  pass  into  one  ear  and 
out  of  the  other.  It  had  no  especial  meaning  to  her ; 
was  not  a  light  shining  on  her  way  and  making  it 
clear.     Perhaps  she  was  not  ready  for  it. 

But  with  Ethel,  the  truth  she  had  thus  tried  to 
express  to  another  became  clearer  to  herself  than  ever 
before,  and  consequently  more  helpful. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  a  friendship  waf> 
formed  between  Mrs.  Allan  and  Ethel  which  had 
a  molding  influence  on  all  the  after  life  of  the 
latter.  Possessed  of  ample  means,  Mrs.  Allan  used 
it  not  for  her  own  pleasure,  but  for  the  good  of 


f.N 


168 


THRKE  QlRia. 


those  around  her.  The  young  people  of  the  Bible 
class,  the  literary  circle,  and  the  missionary  society 
were  often  entertained  in  her  pleasant  home,  and 
there  many  of  them  received  their  first  aspiratiors 
after  that  which  is  noblest  and  best  in  life.  Many 
changes  were  made  too  in  the  mission  church,  and  it 
no  longer  appeared  so  unattractive  as  it  did  when 
Mrs.  Allan  first  saw  it. 

Some  account  of  those  f'.rst  experiences  I'lthel 
gleaned  from  her  friend  as  they  were  talking  together 
one  day  about  modes  of  church  work. 

Ethel  remarked :  "  Th".  coutnist  must  have  seemed 
great  to  you  when  you  rirt  <,  -ime,  between  your  own 
church  in  tho  city,  v'lire  ;  r.^'.  had  so  many  advan- 
tages, and  this  littlo  mi>>  ot  church.  I  wonder, 
almost,  that  yoti  dh'i  no*;  unite  with  the  older  church 
on  the  hiJl,  where  yoii  r,  )uld  have  found  yourself  in 
many  rer^.'eet8  in  mi,i'<^ .     ?enial  surroundingSi" 

"I  was,  ir''en'\  siroji.'r '  tenvated  to  do  so,"  re- 
plied Mii8  Aliaji,  "  bia  you  know,  dear,  that  Mr. 
Alka  beionged  fo  thi;?  church  and  took  a  gieat 
''aterest  in  it,  and  J  resolved  beiore  I  came,  that  it 
jvi  uld  be  my  ohurtih  home  too,  and  that  I  would 
''  vote  my  onei^ies  !•»  its  '^ork.  Eut  I  never  shall 
forget  my  first  S'ii;day  at  Ha;lem  Street,  I  could 
have  cried,  it  made  me  so  hoTne^ick.  I  had  been  used 
to  a  beautiful  church  edificii,  fine  music,  excellent 
appointments,  an  inspiring  ministry,  and  fellow-work- 
ers who  were  at  once  devoted  and  refined  Christians. 


)le  of  the  BiMe 
issionary  society 
eant  home,  and 
first  aspiratiors 
in  life.  Many 
tn  church,  and  it 
as  it  did  when 

:perience8    I'.thel 

tallying  together 

c. 

nust  have  seemed 
elween  your  own 

so  many  advan- 
jrch.     I   wonder, 

the  older  church 
found  yourself  in 
rroundingSi" 
id  to  do  so,"  re- 
V,  dear,  that  Mr. 
nd  took  a  gieat 
re  I  came,  that  it 
md  that  I  would 
But  I  never  shall 

Street.     I  could 
I  had  been  used 
3  music,  excellent 
',  and  fellow-work- 
refined  Christians. 


NEW  SCENE8  AND  NEW   FRIENDS. 

The  building  in  which  I  then  for  the  first  time  wor- 
shiped, was  to  my  eyes  plain  and  unattractive;  it 
was  not  even  well  kept.  The  little  organ  was 
squeaky,  the  singing  poor,  and  the  congregation 
seemed  apathetic. 

"  I  had  been  so  heroic  before  coming  to  Slateville, 
and  had  resolved  to  work  in  just  the  corner  of  the 
vineyard  in  which  I  was  placed.  But  when  I  reached 
hone  that  morning  I  said  to  my  husband, '  We  must 
attend  somewliere  else,  at  least  once  a  day,  for  I  can- 
not stand  this.*  He  turned  a  grave,  surprised  look 
on  me,  and  said,  'Why,  Margie,  I  did,  not  expect 
that  from  you.'  I  felt  rebuked.  How  easy  it  had 
been  to  talk  I  How  hard  xt  wa>  to  practice  I  I 
began  to  wonder  what  sort  of  a  Christian  1  was.  T. 
fought  the  battle  out  that  day.  it  was  harder  than 
ever  I  had  imagined ;  but  I  have  never  regretted  my 
decision,  and  Harlem  Street  Church  is  very  prcious 
to  me  now." 

As  Ethel  looked  into  the  bright,  happy  fact^  of  hor 
friend,  she  k^.^^  that  she  would  never  regret  that 
decision  ;  nay,  rather,  she  would  be  filled  with  clad- 
ness  when  she  should  hear  the  King  say,  "I'-o"- 
lanch  as  ye  did  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  tiiese  m> 
brethren  ye  did  it  unto  me." 

The  day  came  at  last  when  Ethel  was  mrt  from 
her  kind  and  hospitable  friends  and  a  to  her 

home,  from  which  it  seemed  to  her  had  iKen 

absent  months  instead  of  weeks.    It  w;    with  a  thrill 


170 


THREE  GIRLS. 


of  gladness  that  she  thought  of  meeting  all  the  dear 
ones  again. 

Her  journey  was  not  to  be  altogether  a  lonely  one. 
It  so  happened  that  she  had  for  her  coinpanious  for 
a  part  of  the  way,  Dr,  Somerville  and  his  wife,  whose 
brief  visit  the  previous  summer  had  filled  her  with 
such  dismay.  She  did  not  feel  at  all  afraid  of  them 
now ;  and  the  journey  by  steamer  was  very  delightful 
in  their  company. 

After  a  while  they  had  an  addition  to  their  little, 
party.     At  one  stopping  place  Dr.  Somerville  espied 
among  the  passengers  coming  on  board  a  young  man 
of  his  acquaintance.     Frank  Raynor,  that  was  the 
young  man's  name,  was  an  active  worker  in  a  church 
over  which  Dr.  Somerville,  until  lately,  had  been 
pastor.     They  were  mutually  glad  to  meet,  and,  of 
course,  the  doctor  brought  him  forward  to  join  their 
little  circle.    To  say  the  truth,  Ethel  felt  sorry  at 
first ;  naturally  reserved,  it  was  always  an  effort  to 
her  to  talk  to  strangers,  and  she  could  not  help  wish- 
ing that  Mr.  Raynor  had  happened  to  be  going  that 
•woy  some  other  day. 

Mr.  Raynor,  on  the  contrary,  perhaps  because  h^ 
was  of  a  different  temperament,  did  not  seem  at  all 
sorry  that  the  doctor  and  his  wife  were  accompanied 
by  a  young  lady ;  and  he  kept  up  a  lively  conver- 
sation in  which  Ethel  soon  became  interested.  She 
found  herself  thinking  the  new  accession  to  their 
group  quite  a  pleasant  one. 


ing  all  the  dear 

ler  a  lonely  one. 
companious  for 
his  wife,  whose 
filled  her  with 
afraid  of  them 
very  delightful 

)a  to  their  little. 
Somerville  espied 
ird  a  young  man 
or,  that  was  the 
)rker  in  a  church 
lately,  had  been 
to  meet,  and,  of 
f&rd  to  join  their 
thel  felt  sorry  at 
ways  an  effort  to 
Id  not  help  wish- 
to  be  going  that 

rhaps  because  he 
1  not  seem  at  all 
rere  accompanied 
a  lively  conver- 
iaterested.  She 
iccession  to  their 


NEW   SCENES  AND   NEW   FRIENDS. 


171 


It  happened  that  Ma  Raynor  found  out  that  they 
had  a  mutual  acquaintance,  a  young  man  who  had  at- 
tended school  when  Ethel  did,  and  who  was  now  study- 
ing in  Grermany.  This  young  man  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  Mr.  Raynor's,  and  corresi^nded  witli  him 
regularly.  Of  course,  these  circumstances  naturally 
made  a  6ijbje<;t  of  conversation  interesting  to  both. 
Mr.  Kavnor  recollected  that  he  had  some  letters  from 
him  in  his  pocket  giving  graphic  descriptions  of  life 
in  Germany.  So  he  produced  them,  and  read  ex- 
tracts frjni  them ;  and  then  the  conversation  drifted 
into  a  discussion  of  foreign  countries  in  general,  and 
Gerraaiiy  in  particular. 

"Dear  me,  how  quickly  the  time  i.as  passed!" 
said  Mr.  Raynor,  as  the  afternoon  drew  toward  its 
close.  "  I  usually  find  these  steamboat  trips  rather 
tedious,  but  thanks  to  my  plear  ompany,  this  one 
has  proved  quit«  the  reverse." 

Then  good  Dr.  Somerville,  having  left  ^hem  to 
themsel  ves,  returned ;  and  soon  they  reached  their 
de-jtinatioK.  Here  Ethel  had  to  take  the  train  for 
Melvin,  and  so  parted  from  her  fellow-travelers. 

A  few  hours  more,  and  she  was  home  again  ;  and 
then  such  a  welcome  as  she  received !  It  was  little 
wonder  that  Ethel  felt  herself  that  night  to  be  the 
huppiest  girl  in  till  the  world. 


i 


'h 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


THE  INVALID. 


IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  perfect  day  in 
June  when  a  carriage  might  have  been  seen 
coming  slowly  along  the  road  to  Long  View.  The 
only  occupants,  besides  the  driver,  were  two  ladies, 
one  of  whom  was  evidently  an  iuA'alid,  for  she  was 
cushioned  in  shawls  and  pillows,  and  her  pale  face 
wore  that  look  of  languor  and  weariness  which  tells 
BO  plainly  of  weakness  and  suffering. 

It  was  a  fair  scene  that  Jay  spread  out  before  them. 
Stretching  away  on  either  side  were  fields  covered 
with  the  bright,  fresh  green  of  early  summer. 
Daisies  and  buttercups  sprang  up  everywhere  by  the 
roadside.  Along  the  way  it  was  wondered  who 
could  be  going  thus  early  in  the  season  to  Long  View. 
But  down  in  the  little  hamlet  it  was  well  known  that 
Mrs.  Lane  and  her  invalid  niece  were  coming  to 
Woodbine  Cottage;  for  Mary,  the  good-natured 
maid-servant,  had  been  there  through  the  previous 
week  getting  everything  in  readiueas,  and  that  morn- 
ing she  and  the  children  had  come  down  by  train, 
while  Mrs.  Lane  accompanied  Fanny  in  a  carriage, 
as  the  latter  was  not  yet  sufficiently  strong  to  travel 
by  train. 
172 


perfect  day  in 
have  been  seen 
ong  View.  The 
were  two  ladies, 
ilid,  for  she  was 
id  her  pale  face 
iness  which  tells 

out  before  them. 
Ire  fields  covered 
:  early  summer, 
very  where  by  the 
I  wondered  who 
)n  to  Long  View, 
well  known  that 
were  coming  to 
lie  good-natured 
iigh  tlie  previous 
i,  and  that  morn- 
e  down  by  train, 
ny  in  a  carriage, 
f  strong  to  travel 


THE  INVALID. 


178 


A  turn  in  the  road  l)rouglit  the  occupants  of  the 
carriage  in  sight  of  the  sea,  and  in  a  few  moments  they 
drew  up  in  front  of  Woodbine  Cottage.  The  driver 
lifled  out  Fannie  tenderly,  carried  her  into  the  house 
and  laid  her  down  on  the  broad,  comfortable  lounge, 
in  what  had  been  tin;  sitting  room  the  year  previous, 
but  which  was  to  be  Fannie's  room  this  summer. 

Fannie  lay  on  the  couch,  looking  out  on  the  famil- 
iar scene  and  contrasting,  as  she  did  so,  her  present 
condition  with  the  life  and  energy  she  had  felt  a  year 
before.  It  was  little  worn'  r  that  such  thoughts 
filled  her  with  sadness.  Just  then  her  aunt  said 
ciieerily : 

"  Doesn't  everything  look  natural,  Fannie  ?  Not 
a  thing  is  changed.  It  seems  but  yesterday  since  we 
left  it  all." 

It  was  the  last  drop  making  the  full  cup  overflow. 
Fannie  had  hard  work  to  keep  back  the  tears  and 
steady  her  voice,  as  she  answered  : 

"  Yes,  evervthingr  looks  natural." 

"  You  are  tired,"  said  Mrs.  Lane,  noticing  the 
quiver  in  her  voice.  "  I  will  go  and  get  something 
for  you  to  take,  and  then  you  must  rest ; "  and  Mrs. 
Lane  liurried  away  to  prepare  a  lunch  for  her  patient. 

Fannie  was  glad  to  be  left  alone  for  a  while.  She 
looked  out  over  the  dancing,  blue  waters,  far  out  on 
the  distant  horizon  where  a  sail  gleamed  white  in  the 
sunlight,  and  thought  how,  but  a  few  months  before, 
sucli  beauty  would  have  thrilled  every  nerve  and 


% 


174 


THREE  OIRI«. 


fibre  of  her  being  with  delight.  Now  she  ^vas 
almost  too  weak  and  weary  to  look  at  it.  "  Nothing 
changed,"  she  rejieated  to  herself;  "why,  everything 
is  changed  to  me.  It  seems  but  yesterday  since  we 
left ;  to  me  it  seems  an  age.  I  can  scarcely  realize  that 
I  am  the  same  being  who  went  in  and  out  so  gayly  last 

summer."  i  i    j 

And  with  this  thought  Fannie  gave  up,  and  had  a 
good  cry,  only  for  a  fe^  minutes,  however,  for 
through  her  tears  she  saw  the  children  coming  up 
from  the  shore.  *'  I  must  not  give  way  any  longer," 
she  said,  "  I  must  have  a  cheerful  face  for  the  happy, 
little  darlings."    So  slipping  off  the  sofa,  she  bathed 

her  face. 

She  had  only  just  time  to  settle  herself  again  on 
the  lounge,  when  her  aunt  came  in  with  a  little  tray 
on  which  were  daintily  set  out  the  needed  refreshments 
for  the  invalid.  If  Mrs.  Lane  saw  traces  of  tears  on 
the  young  girl's  face  she  was  wise  enough  not  to  say 
anything  about  it.  She  gave  a  lively  account  of  liow 
Marv  and  the  children  had  passed  the  day.  "  I  told 
the  children,"  slie  added,  "  that  they  were  not  to 
come  in  here  till  you  felt  strong  enough  to   see 

them."'  „     , 

Fannie  felt  inwardly  thankful  to  her  aunt  for  her 
thoughtfulness.  By  the  time  she  had  finished  her 
lunch,  however,  she  felt  quite  able  to  see  her  little 

cousins.  1    n      u 

They  came  in,  eager  to  show  her  the  shells  they 


Now  she  was 
it  it.  ♦'  Nothing 
why,  everything 
esterday  since  we 
ircely  realize  that 
out  8o  gayly  last 


ve 


?8, 


up,  and  had  a 

however,   for 

drcn  coming  up 

way  any  longer," 

ice  for  the  happy, 

3  sofa,  she  bathed 

herself  again  on 
with  a  little  tray 
eded  refreshments 
traces  of  tears  on 
enough  not  to  say 
ly  account  of  liow 
the  day.  "  I  told 
:hey  were  not  to 
s;  enough   to   see 

her  aunt  for  her 
had  finished  her 
>  to  see  her  little 

!r  the  shells  they 


THE  INVAUD. 

hud  picked  up,  and  to  tell  her  of  «  lovely  place  where 
she  could  sit  and  watch  all  their  games. 

"  And  will  oo  play  wiv  us^  and  build  sand  towers 
like  oo  did  last  year,"  piped  in  curly-headed  little 
Amy. 

"  No,  darling.  Cousin  Fannie  can't  play  with  you  ; 
but  I  can  watch  you  playing,  and  that  will  be  just  as 
good." 

"We  went  in  bathing,"  broke  in  Jesse.  "We 
went  out  ever  so  far." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  chimed  in  six-year-old  Harold,  "  I  went 
away  out,  where  the  water  was  deep.  Ticnnie  Smith 
is  going  to  teach  me  to  swim.  I  can  swim  now,  I 
guess — almost,"  he  added,  a  little  doubtful  whether 
he  really  had  acquired  this  accomplishment. 

We  never  make  an  effort  to  go  out  of  ourselves 
and  enter  into  the  joys  of  others  without  reaping  a 
reward.  And  so  when  a  little  Ij'ter  the  tea  bell  rang, 
and  the  children  trooped  away  to  the  dining  room, 
and  once  more  Fannie  was  left  to  quietness,  there 
was  a  bright  look  on  her  face,  and  a  feeling  of  peace 
in  her  heart  as  she  gazed  again  on  the  tranquil  sceno 
before  her,  over  which  the  quiet  light  of  evening  was 
fulling. 

She  had  lost  health  and  youthful  gaiety,  yet  a 
voice  seemed  to  whisper  in  her  ear,  "  there  remains 
something  better."  Had  she  not  always  been  striv- 
ing after  the  "  best  things  "  ?  Yet  tlie  "  best  things  " 
must  be  those  that  endure.     Health  and  earthly  joys 


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she  knew  were  fleeting,  but  "  now  abideth  faith,  hope, 
love  " ;  the  consciousness  that  her  life  afforded  ample 
room  for  the  exercise  of  these  virtues  brought  with  it 
calm  confidence  and  rest  of  soul.  "  Though  I  may 
be  always  an  invalid,"  she  murmured  softly,  "  I  shall 
still  be  able  to  seek  after  the  *  best  things ' — to  seek 
that  kingdom  which  is  righteousness,  and  peace,  and 
joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost." 

The  sunlight  had  faded  from  the  scene.  In  the 
eastern  heavens  the  rising  moon  grew  momentarily 
brighter,  till  it  flooded  the  earth  with  its  mild  radi- 
ance, and  cast  a  shining  pathway  over  the  restless 
waters.  W««iry  with  the  day's  journey,  the  young 
girl  sank  into  quiet  slumber.  In  her  heart  there  was 
great  peace,  of  which  the  repose  that  brooded  over 
nature  was  but  a  faint  emblem ;  even  the  peace  of 
those  who  love  God's  law,  and  "  whom  nothing  can 
offend." 


"V 


pnMpanp 


bideth  faith,  hope, 
ife  afforded  ample 
es  brought  with  it 
*'  Though  I  may 
ed  softly,  "  I  shall 
;  things ' — to  seek 
88,  and  peace,  and 

he  scene.  In  the 
grew  momentarily 
vith  its  mild  radi- 
•  over  the  restless 
)urney,  the  young 
ler  heart  there  mm 
that  brooded  over 
even  the  peace  of 
whom  nothing  can 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


A.  LESSON  OF  HOPE. 


ONE  bright,  sunny  morning,  a  few  days  after  the 
Lanes  had  arrived  at  Woodbine  Cottage,  Fannie 
was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  front  door,  reading, 
when  she  heard  the  garden  gate  click,  and  looking 
up  saw  a  lady,  a  stranger,  coming  in.  Fannie's  first 
impulse  was  to  run  into  the  house,  for  since  her  ill- 
ness she  had  a  great  dread  of  meeting  strangers.  But 
she  instantly  reflected  that  the  lady  would  be  at  the 
door  before  she  oonii  disengage  herself  from  her 
shawls  and  wrappings ;  su  biie  concluded  that  it  was 
better  to  sit  there  and  face  the  ordeal.  It  was  such  a 
very  pleasant  face  that  met  hers,  however,  her  dread 
melted  away  at  onco. 

"  Miss  Weldoa,  I  believe,"  said  the  lady.  "  I  am 
Mrs.  Allan,  and  your  next-door  neighbor  for  the  sum- 
mer. I  have  been  wanting  to  call  on  you,  and  seeing 
you  sitting  out  here  this  morning,  there  seemed  to  be 
a  good  opportunity  to  run  in  and  make  your  acquaint- 
ance; though  indeed  I  feel  as  though  I  was  ac^ 
quainted  with  yon  ;  for  I  have  heard  so  much  of  you 
from  your  friend  and  mine,  Ethel  Gladwyn." 

At  the  mention  of  Ethel's  name,  Fannie  felt  at  ease, 
and  said :  "Then  you  are  the  Mrs.  Allan  whom  Ethel 

M  177 


rH' 


178 


THBER  GIRUB. 


|s*;i 


metat  SlateviUe.  I  remember  that  she  «M«f /«"' 
la  at  the  time  I  wished  I<K,uld  see  you,  and  kn- 
voutoo;  audnowmy  wish  is  fulfilled.  I  thmk  1 
may^rdthatasa  favorable  omen  for  the  beg:nnmg 
of  my  sojourn  here ;  may  I  not?  " 

«I  cannot  say"  repUed  Mrs.  AUan.  laugh.ng. 
«  You  may  live  to  regret  your  wish ;  however  I  cer- 
Jnlv  hope'  that  will  not  be  the  case.  What  delxgh^ 
M  leather  we  are  having  here  I    You   must  feel 

^rSkTt"  At  any  rate,  I  hope  I  am  better  " 

Then  Mrs.  Allan  began  to  ask  q»««\*"'».^;^;' 

Long  View,  making  inquiries  concermng  the  d.fferei^ 

wllks  and  drives.    Fannie  grew  interested,  and  de- 

Bcribetl  them  with  considerable  animation. 

Zs   l^ne  joined  them,  and  soon  they  were  con- 
ve^ng  together  as  easily  as  if  they  had  known  one 

^"^WhtVhTno  iaea  I  ^ad  ^^  he.  so  long  » 
said  M«  Allan,  glancing  at  her  wateh  I  am 
Smid  I  have  wearied  you."  she  added,  turning  to 

^''«  No,  indeed,"  exclaimed  the  young  girl.    "  I  hope 
von  will  come  in  and  see  me  often."  -  .     j 

^  "  ^sball  be  pleased  to  do  so,"  said  her  new  friend 
adding,  as  she'said  "good-bye":    "And  you  must 
often  come  in  and  sit  with  me." 

"Woll,  Fannie,"  said  her  aunt,  after  Mrs.  Allan 
had  left,  «  so  you  really  have  seen  our  neighbor,  and 


;  she  spoke  of  you, 
jee  you,  and  know 
[filled.  I  think  I 
1  for  the  beginning 

Allan,  laughing, 
sh ;  however  I  oer- 
ae.  What  delight- 
l    You   must  feel 

h«)pe  I  am  better." 
sk  questions  about 
[«rning  the  different 

interested,  and  de- 
limation. 

Boon  they  were  con- 
ley  had  known  one 

been  here  so  long," 
her  watch.  "I  am 
le  added,  turning  to 

rounggirl.    "I  hope 

jn." 
said  her  new  friend, 
" :   "  And  you  must 

unt,  after  Mrs.  Allan 
ien  our  neighbor,  and 


A  LESaOX  OF  HOPE. 


179 


talked  with  her.  Don't  you  remember  you  told  me 
that  you  could  not  possibly  see  her  if  she  called  ?  " 

"Oh,  auntie,  she  was  so  nice,  I  did  not  mind  her  a 
bit.  She  didn't  ask  me  how  long  I  had  been  ill,  and 
what  brought  on  niy  illness,  and  did  the  doctor  think 
I  would  ever  be  strong  again.  It  makes  me  miser- 
able to  have  to  answer  so  many  questions  about 
myself." 

"  You  foolish  child  !  It  was  only  old  Mrs.  Dane 
who  a«ked  you  all  those  questions,  I  am  sure.  You 
are  too  sensitive." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  auntie.  But  I  like  Mrs  Allan, 
because  she  draws  me  away  from  myself.  Is  it  not 
fortunate  she  is  staying  here  this  summer  ?  " 

"  Very.  I  am  glad  on  your  account  j  for  she  will 
be  company  for  you  oftentimes  when  I  cannot  be  with 
you." 

Through  the  summer  days  that  folh/wed,  Mrs. 
Allan  and  Fannie  were  much  together,  and  Fannie 
felt  the  influence  of  her  new  friend's  cheery  and  hope- 
ful spirit. 

One  day,  shortly  after  their  first  meeting,  they  were 
sitting  together  on  the  sands.  It  was  a  bright  day. 
The  tide  was  coming  in,  and  there  wns  a  fascination 
in  watching  the  waves  as  they  followed  one  another 
in  quick  succession,  breaking  on  the  sandy  beach  in 
long  lines  of  foam.  Children  played  on  the  sand?, 
their  shouts  of  delight  ringing  out  above  the  noise 
of  the  dashing  waters.    But  all  the  brightness  and 


180 


THREE  GIBLS. 


Bunsl.ine  and  life  around  brought  no  pleasure  to 
Fannie ;  for  it  was  one  of  her  "  blue"  days.  She  sat 
in  a  cosy,  sheltered  nook,  playing  listlessly  with  the 
eand,  taking  it  up  in  handfuls,  and  letting  it  sl^ 
thn,ugh  her  fingers,  whUe  she  gazed  pensively  on  the 
animated  scene  before  her.  At  length  she  could  no 
longer  keep  her  sad  thoughts  to  herself. 

«  Do  you  see  that  wrecked  vessel  over  there,  Mrs. 
Allan?"  she  said,  abruptly.  ^^ 

«  Yes,  dear.  Quite  picturesque,  is  it  not  ? 
« I  don't  know.  I  wasn't  thinking  of  it  in  that 
liirht  Do  vou  know  I  feel  sometimes  as  though  I 
was  just  such  a  wreck.  The  tides  of  human  life  and 
interest  ebb  and  flow  unceasingly,  but  I  am  out  ot 
reach  of  them,  stranded  on  the  sands  of  time,  a  useless 

Mra.  Allan  made  no  direct  an8.ver,  but  said:  "By 
the  way,  I  hear  they  intend  to  put  that  wreck,  as  you 
call  it,  in  thorough  repair ;  and  another  summer  will, 
in  all  probaHility,  see  her  sailing  the  ocean  again. 

« l8  it  possible  ?  I  did  not  know  anything  could 
be  done  with  it,"  said  Fannie. 

«  Nor  I,  either,  until  yesterday,  when  I  lieard  what 
I  have  just  told  you.    Now,  you  sec,  your  fete  may 

be  as  good."  ,  u      t  »„* 

» 1  wish  it  might.    But  there  are  times  when  1  get 

flo  discouraged  1    It  seems  as  though  I  never  would 

know  again  what  hcialth  is." 

There  was  a  few  moment's  pause,  and  then  Mrs. 


no  pleasare  to 
le"  days.  She  sat 
listlessly  with  the 
md  letting  it  slip 
a  pensively  on  the 
igth  she  could  no 
rself. 
lel  over  there,  Mrs. 

is  it  not?" 
liking  of  it  in  that 
etimes  as  though  I 
B  of  human  life  and 
y,  but  I  am  out  of 
ids  of  time,  a  useless 

ver,  but  said :  "  By 
t  that  wreck,  as  you 
nother  summer  will, 
the  ocean  again." 
:now  anything  could 

,  when  I  heard  what 
(u  sec,  your  fate  may 

are  times  when  I  get 
liough  I  never  would 

pause,  and  then  Mrs. 


A  LESSON  OF  HOPE. 


181 


Allan  said,  in  the  sweot,  measured  tones  which  were 
always  hers  when  sht  spoke  her  Heavenly  Father'*; 
word :  "  Why  art  thou  cast  dov/n,  O  my  soul,  and  why 
art  thou  disquieted  within  me?  lloyte  thou  in  God ; 
for  I  shall  yet  praise  him,  who  is  the  health  of  my 
countenance,  and  my  God." 

The  well-known  words  stin*ed  Fannie's  heart  as 
they  never  before  had  done.  She  looked  up  from  the 
sands,  with  which  she  had  been  idly  playing,  and  her 
gaze  wandered  over  the  wide  expanse  of  blue  waters, 
to  where  sea  and  sky  met.  She  thoi\ght  of  the  great 
Creator,  who  made  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  the  sea 
and  all  that  is  therein,  and  remembered  that  this 
mighty  Creator  was  lier  Maker  also,  and  had  revealed 
himself  to  her  as  a  God  of  love.  Had  she  then  any 
reason  to  be  discouraged  as  she  looked  out  upon  the 
future?  Even  in  that  moment  th«  young  girl  in 
her  conscious  weakness  leaned  upon  the  Almighty 
Strength,  and  was  lifted  out  of  her  despondency. 

There  was  a  radiance  in  her  eyes  as  she  turned  her 
face  toward  her  friend,  and  said,  with  a  solemn  ear- 
nestness as  though  she  was  recording  a  vow :  "  I 
will  hope  in  God." 

From  that  time  forward  Fannie  was  no  more  heard 
to  compare  herself  to  a  wrecked  vessel ;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  was  noticed  that  she  took  a  lively  inter- 
est in  the  repuring  of  the  barque. 

Her  friends  could  see  a  marked. improvement  in 
Fannie's  health.    The  sea  air,  combined  with  a  due 


182 


THRBE  GIBLS. 


amouut  of  rest  and  exercise,  proved  beneficial ;  a  faint 
a)lor  began  to  steal  into  her  cheeks,  and  she  found 
herself  able  to  walk  more.  Along  with  all  this  came 
a  uniform  happiness  and  contentment  that  Fannie 
scarcely  would  have  thought  iwssible  to  her  u  short 
while,  before. 

It  was  true,  she  still  had  no  very  definite  prospect 
of  being  able  to  do  any  great  work  in  the  world ;  but 
ever  since  that  bright  morning  on  the  sands,  when  she 
had  taken  fresh  courage  from  the  words,  "  Hope  thou 
in  God,"  her  despondency  had  vanished. 

She  had  many  talks  with  Mrs.  Allan  after  that,  and 

more  and  more  grew  willing  to  leave  the  shaping  and 

ordering  of  her  life  in  the  hands  of  a  wise  and  loving 

Heavenly  Father. 

Thus  the  summer  passed  away,  bringing  health  of 

body  and  peace  of  mind  to  the  young  invalid. 


)eneflcial ;  a  faint 
kn,  and  she  found 
tvith  all  this  came 
oent  that  Fannie 
>le  to  her  u  short 

f  definite  prospect 
in  the  world ;  but 
le  sands,  when  she 
ords,  "  Hope  thou 
shed. 

ilan  after  that,  and 
re  the  shaping  and 
'  a  wise  and  loving 

)ringing  health  of 
ng  invalid. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


OHANQES. 


ETHEL  did  not  see  much  of  Grace  that  summer. 
Mrs.  Maynai-d  was  poorly,  and  spent  all  the 
hot  season  at  the  pleasant  country  resort  with  which 
they  were  so  delighted  the  previous  summer.  Ethel 
often,  however,  received  letters  from  her  friend, 
full  of  descriptions  of  pleasant  excursions.  Evi- 
dently Grace  was  more  in  love  with  Forett  Glen 
than  ever. 

Mrs.  Clifford,  their  pastor's  wife,  stayed  some 
weeks -there  also,  which  of  course  added  to  Grace's 
enjoyment.  A  nephew  of  Mr.  Clifford's  spent  his 
vacation  at  the  same  plaue,  and  Grace  often  made 
casual  mention  of  him  as  accompanying  them  in 
their  various  jaunts  and  ramblts. 

"  I  wonder  why  it  is,"  said  Ethel  to  herself,  as  she 
laid  down  Grace's  last  letter,  in  which  she  spoke  of 
leaving  '  dear  Forest  Glen,  where  she  had  passed  the 
happiest  summer  of  her  life,'  "  I  wonder  why  it  is 
that  everything  has  been  so  charming,  so  lovely,  so 
delightful  to  Grace  this  summer." 

She  found  the  answer  to  her  question  when  her 
friend  returned.  Grace  was  engaged.  The  young 
man  who  had  won  her  heart  waa  Ernest  Seaford, 


184 


TRREB  GIBLB. 


Mr.  Clifford's  nephew,  who  was  finishing  his  course 
at  a  theological  institution. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  seen  him,"  said  Ethel, 
when  Grace  confided  to  her  the  interesting  news. 

"  Yes,  you  have.  You  know  the  day  we  went  to 
Milton  on  the  picnic.  Do  you  remember  that  solemn 
young  man   I  said    looked  at  us  so?    That  was 

Ernest." 

"  I  recollect  now  that  you  spoke  about  him,  but  I 
don't  remember    him  particularly.    Is   he  just  as 

solemn  now  ?  " 

<«  Oh,  no,  he  is  just  splendid  when  you  come  to 
know  him;  but  he  will  be  here  for  a  few  days  this 
autumn,  and  you  will  have  an  opportunity  then  to 

see  him." 

Ethel  had  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Seaford  was  all  that 
could  be  desired,  aud  was  glad  for  her  friend's  sake, 
yet  she  could  not  help  feeling  lonely.  AH  Grace's 
thoughts  evidently  were  now  wrapped  up  in  another. 
Ethel,  of  course,  could  not  enter  into  her  feelings, 
and  she  felt  that  though  Grace  was  the  same  as  ever, 
she  was,  in  a  certain  sense,  lost  to  her. 

"  Please  don't  look  so  doleful,  Ethel,"  Grace  said 
one  day,  when  Ethel  was  taking  an  especially  gloomy 
view  of  things  in  r^ard  to  her  leaving  the  church. 
«  No  doubt  there  will  be  some  one  else  to  take  my 
place  in  church  work.  And  that  reminds  me  that  we 
are  going  to  gain  a  Very  active  member  soon ;  one 
who  will  be  quite  an  acquisition  to  our  staff  of  church 


lishing  his  course 

him,"  said  Ethel, 
resting  news, 
e  day  we  went  to 
imber  that  solemn 
I  so?    That  was 

about  him,  but  I 
■.    Is  he  just  as 

rhen  you  come  to 
or  a  few  days  this 
jportunity  then  to 

saford  was  all  that 
her  friend's  sake, 
nely.  All  Grace's 
ped  up  in  another, 
into  her  feelings, 
sthe  same  as  ever, 
her. 

Ethel,"  Grace  said 
1  especially  gloomy 
eaving  the  church, 
ne  else  to  take  my 
reminds  me  that  we 
member  soon;  one 
>  our  staff  of  church 


■ 


0HANOE8. 


186 


workers.    Ernest  writes  me  that  a  Mr.  Frank  Ray- 
nor,  of  Brantford,  is  expecting  to  settle  in  Melvin." 
"  Is  he  ?    Oh,  that  will  be  veiy  nice  1 "  said  Ethel, 

heartily. 

"Why,"  said.  Grace,  in  some  surprise,  "are  you 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Raynor  ?  " 

"  Yes— at  least,  that  is— only  slightly.  I  met  him 
while  away."  Ethel  felt  provoked  to  know  that  the 
color  mounted  to  her  cheeks  as  she  made  this  very 
simple  statement.  What  difference  need  it  make  to 
her,  whether  Frank  Raynor,  or  any  one  else  came  to 
Melvin? 

Grarr  looked  at  her  quiwically.  "You  never 
mentioned  him  to  me,"  she  said. 

"  I  didn't  think  about  it,"  returned  Ethel. 

"  Well,  Ernest  is  well  acquainted  with  him,  and 
says  he  is  a  splendid  fellow." 

«  He  seemed  very  pleasant,"  said  Ethel,  trying  to 
appear  indifferent,  without  succeeding  very  well. 

Grace  said  no  more,  but  a  smile  played  around  her 
lips,  and  she  thought,  "  Perhaps— who  knows,  Ethel 
may  not  miss  me  very  much,  after  a  while." 

The  winter  passed  and  spring  came  again,  and 
found  Grace  in  a  whirl  of  busy  preparations ;  for  in 
the  early  summer  she  was  to  become  the  wife  of  Ernest 

Seaford. 

Mrs.  Maynard  had  at  first  objected  to  so  early  a 
date  being  fixed  for  the  wedding.  They  might  wait 
awhile.    Grace  was  young  yet,  and  she  ought  to  have 


1 


I 


I 


"^ 


Mdirilltiil 


186 


THREE  OIRIil. 


a  little  longer  time  to  enjoy  her  girlhood.  But  Grace 
presented  all  tl.e  arguments:  Ernest  was  so  lonely; 
Aggie  was  grt>wing  up  to  fill  her  place  in  the  home; 
she  was  no  younger  than  her  mother  was  when  she 
was  married;  and  so  at  last  the  m^ter  was  settled. 
Ignore  I^lie  was  to  be  married  about  the  jame 
time  as  G.aoe.  She  had  made  what  was  considered 
in  worldly  circles  a  "  brilliant  match"  ;  her  betrothed 
being  reported  very  wealthy.  Of  course,  her  wed- 
ding was  to  be  a  very  fashionable  one,  and  Giaoc, 
who  looked  upon  Leonore  as  quite  an  authority  in 
social  matt«r8,  was  influenced  by  her  views. 

But  suddenly  there  came  a  break  in  the  plans  and 
preparations.  Grace  was  sewing  one  afternoon  when 
she  saw  Ned  coming  up  the  walk  to  the  house.  He 
beckoned  to  her,  and  she  ran  quickly  down  to  meet 

'"What  is  the  matter,  Ned?"  she  exclaimed;  for 
she  knew  by  his  look  that  something  had  happened. 

•'  Father  has  been  taken  very  ill,  suddenly— paral- 
ysis we  fear.  He  is  unconscious.  They  are  bring- 
injr'him  home  now;  and  we  must  break  the  news  to 
mother  as  gently  as  we  can."    Ned  spoke  hurriedly 

in  broken  sentences.  ,.111. 

•  Grace  felt  like  one  stunned;  mechanically  she 
turned  and  went  into  the  house  with  her  brother. 
«  Will  you  tell  mother,  Ned  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  you  had  bettfer  do  it,  Grace." 

Grace  scarcely  knew  how  she  reached  her  mother's 


lood.  But  Grace 
!t  was  80  lonely  j 
laoo  ill  the  home ; 
icr  was  when  she 
ity^ter  was  aettletl. 

about  the  «aine 
at  was  considered 
\" ;  her  betrothed 

course,  her  wed- 
>  one,  and  Oiaoe, 
e  an  authority  in 
ir  views. 

i  in  the  plans  and 
ne  afternoon  when 
to  the  house.  He 
ik^  down  to  meet 

he  exclaimed ;  for 
ng  had  happened. 
,  suddenly — paral- 
They  are  bring- 
break  the  news  to 
sd  spoke  hurrieilLy 

mechanically  she 
with  her  brother. 

le  asked. 

«.» 

Achcd  her  mother's 


OBASQtB. 


187 


room,  nor  how  she  told  the  sad  news.  Mrs.  Maynard 
bore  up  under  the  shock  U<tter  than  her  children  had 
expected.  As  yet  none  of  them  could  fully  realiae 
tlie  sorrow  that  had  ot>me  to  them.  They  only  felt 
the  dark  shadow  tiiat  had  fuUen  on  their  home. 
Heavily  indeed  it  rested  on  the  hearts  of  thti»e 
stricken  ones  when  they  gaaed  on  the  unconscious 
form  of  their  loved  one.  Was  it  possible  thai  those 
lips  might  never  speak  to  tliera  again  ?  They  could 
not  bear  the  thought,  and  clung  to  the  hope  that  he 

would  recover. 

"I  can  think  nothing  else  but  that  father  will 
get  well,"  said  Grace.  It  was  her  first  sorrow.  She 
ha.l  scarcely  realized  before  that  sorrow  could  come 
to  her.  Now  it  seemed  strange  that  the  sun  would 
sliine  so  brightly,  and  all  the  outer  world  go  on  the 
same  when  she  was  so  heavy-hearted.  Yet  there  was 
comfort  even  in  their  sadness.  Grace  realized  it  with 
a  thrill  of   thankfulness,  that  evening,  wlien   her 

brother  said : 

«  Mother,  shall  we  have  a  few  words  of  prayer 

together?" 

"  Yes,  my  son,"  answered  Mrs.  Maynard,  her  sad 
face  brightening  a  little.  And  each  one  of  the  sor- 
rowing group  felt  comforted  as  the  son  and  brother 
read  the  forty-sixth  psalm,  and  then  in  a  few  simple 
words  brought  their  needs  and  their  sorrows  to  tlie 
Heavenly  Father. 

The  next  morning  Grace  brought  the  Bible  and 


i 


188 


THBEE  OIBLS. 


laid    it  before  her  brother;   and    from  that  time 

forward,   family    worship,   which    had    been    sadly 

neglected  in  the  Maynaid  family,  was  never  omitted. 

The  weeks  that  followed  were  very  quiet  ones; 

weeks  when  all  the  busy  preparations  that  had  been 

going  on  before,  were  laid  aside  and  forgotten.     Of 

how^'little  consequence  they  appeared    now  1    But 

many  were  the  lessons  learned  during  those  weeks  of 

waiting  and  watching  in  the  sick  chamber.    Grace 

had  time  to  think  now,  and  she  saw  plainly  how  her 

heart  had  become  involved  with  the  world  again. 

This  shadow  that  had  crossed  her  pathway  had  been 

needed.     She  drew  near  to  God  again,  and  consecrated 

herself  anew  to  him,  and  came  forth  from  the  season 

of  trial  a  stronger  Christian. 

Mrs.   Maynard,  sitting    by  the    bedside  of  her 
husband,  whose  lips  could  frame  no  sound,  thought 
with  a  pang  how  little  she  had  known  of  him  all 
tnese  years;   how  she  had  become  engrossed  with 
household  cares,  so  wrapt  up  in  her  own  feelings  that 
she  had  no  time  to  think  of  his.    She  wondered  now 
whether  anything  had  been  worth  while  that  had  been 
80  much  to  her.    She  bad  glided  into  worldliness  top, 
unconsciously  perhaps,  but  really.    Sometimes  con- 
science had  been  awakened,  but  only  for  a  time ;  then 
she  had  lapsed  again  into  her  old  way  of  think- 
ing that  she  must  do  as  others  did.     In  these  quiet 
hours  she  drew  nigh  to  God;  so  for  her  also  this 
trial  brought  blessing. 


■  I  .iitM»iiTi«M<Mi;<r<WiMIjWwiCTWaiMMg|> 


CHANGES. 


189 


from  that  time 
had  been  sadly 
as  never  omitted, 
very  quiet  ones; 
us  that  had  been 
d  forgotten.  Of 
ared  now  1  But 
ig  those  weeks  of 

chamber.  Grace 
V  plainly  how  her 
the  world  again. 
)athway  had  been 
n,  and  consecrated 
;h  from  the  season 

bedside  of  her 
ao  sound, thought 
nown  of  him  all 
le  engrossed  with 
•  own  feelings  that 
ihe  wondered  now 
rhile  that  had  been 
ito  worldliness  top, 

Sometimes  con- 
ly  for  a  time ;  then 
>ld  way  of  th ink- 
id.  In  these  quiet 
>  for  her  also  this 


It  was  a  glad  day  when  the  doctor  gave  hoi)e8 
of  Mr.  Maynard's  ultimate  restoration  to  health. 
Slowly,  very  slowly,  he  improved.  At  last  when 
autumn  came,  it  was  decided  that  he  was  sufficiently 
recovered  for  Grace's  wedding  to  take  place.  A  very 
quiet  wedding  it  was,  very  di£Ferent  from  the  one 
planne<l.  Only  the  nearest  and  dearest  friends  were 
there,  for  Mr.  Mayuard  could  not  bear  any  excite- 
ment. It  touched  all  hearts  to  see  him  as  he  sat  in  a 
large  arm-chair,  appearing  so  broken  down,  yet  try- 
ing to  smile  on  the  guests. 

After  the  ceremony,  Grace  came  over  to  her  father, 
and  stooped  to  kiss  '  im.  He  drew  her  near,  and 
held  her  hand  closely  in  his  as  though  he  would  fain 
keep  her  always ;  then  looking  up  said,  "  Ah,  Ernest, 
you  are  taking  away  the  sunshine  of  our  home."  He 
paused  a  few  moments  overcome  by  his  feelings,  then, 
laying  Grace's  hand  in  that  of  her  husbant!,  ""^d 
with  quivering  lips,  "  God  bless  you,  my  children." 

Tlie  pathos  in  his  tone  brought  tears  to  many  eye's, 
but  smiles  quickly,  followed,  as  congratulations  were 
offered.  Grace  would  fain  have  lingered  after  lun.:h- 
eon,  chatting  with  one  and  another,  but  the  time  of 
departure  was  near,  and  the  carriages  were  waiting  at 
the  door.  Then  came  hurried  good-byes  and  hosts 
of  good  wishes;  and  amid  showers  of  rice  the  young 
couple  drove  off. 

So  Grace  left  the  home  of  her  girlhood  to  enter  on 
a  new  and  untried  sphere. 


lli 


CHAPTER  XX. 


LADBA  WYNDHAM. 


LAURA  WYNDH AM  aat  in  the  library,  ponder- 
ing over  two  notes  that  had  arrived  by  the 
morning  mail.  One  was  from  Ethel  Gladwyn,  with 
an  invitation  to  visit  Melvin  whenever  convenient ; 
the  other  contained  an  invitation  from  the  Fentons, 
friends  of  Laura. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  Laura  would  have  ac- 
cepted the  latter  in  preference  to  the  former ;  for  the 
Fentons  were  gay  people,  and  she  was  sure  of  having 
such  a  round  of  amusements  while  with  them  that 
time  would  not  hang  heavily  on  her  hands.  Yet  in 
spite  of  this,  she  felt  no  uiclination  to  accept  their  in- 
vitation. For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  felt  tliat 
gaieties  and  amusements  could  give  her  no  pleasure. 
Her  heart  was  restless  and  unsatisfied.  She  felt 
drawn,  she  scarcely  knew  why,  to  Ethel's  home.  **  It 
Avill  be  very  quiet  there,"  she  mused ;  "  for  Ethel  does 
not  go  to  anything.  But  on  the  whole,  I  believe  I 
should  like  it.    At  any  rate,  it  will  be  a  change." 

And  so  it  happened  that  the  very  same  week  in 
which  Grace  was  married,  Ethel  received  a  note  from 
Laura,  saying  that  fehe  would  be  happy  to  come  to 
Melvin  the  following  week. 
19(1 


'  -  s^^r'T  "  TT  iimi  — 


«»«i«ip»lMP«!WW»P«W^ 


mmm 


LAV&A  WYNDHAM. 


191 


f. 

be  library,  ponder- 
d  arrived  by  the 
hel  Gladwyn,  with 
never  convenient ; 
from  tlie  Fentons, 

jra  would  have  ac- 
le  former ;  for  the 
was  sure  of  having 
le  with  them  that 
er  hands.     Yet  in 

I  to  accept  their  in- 
T  life,  she  felt  tliat 
ve  her  no  pleasure, 
atisfied.  She  felt 
Ethel's  home.  "It 
d ;  "  for  Ethel  does 

whole,  I  believe  I 

II  be  a  change." 
very  same  week  in 
•eceived  a  note  from 
3  happy  to  come  to 


"  Oh,  Ethel,"  exclaimed  Millie,  "  what  made  you 
ask  her?  She  has  such  a  lovely  home,  while  every- 
thing here  will  seem  very  plain,  and  unlike  what  she 
is  used  to." 

"  Don't  you  think,  Millie,  that  you  have  somewhat 
mized  ideas  about  that  word  *  home  *  ?  Our  home  is 
just  as  lovely  as  hers ;  our  house  and  its  furnishings 
are  not  so  handsome  and  costly ;  but  such  things  do 
not  make  the  home.  Many  a  mansion,  abounding  in 
every  luxury,  is  not  a  home  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word.  Besides,  Laura  knows  that  we  cannot  afford 
the  same  style  of  living  that  they  maintain ;  so  she  will 
know  what  to  expect." 

Ethel  did  not  have  the  same  feelings  of  anxiety 
regarding  Laura's  visit  that  she  might  have  had  a 
year  or  two  previously.  She  had  entered  too  fully 
into  the  spirit  of  her  motto  for  that.  The  yearning 
grew  stronger  within  her  every  day  that  her  cousin 
might  be  brought  into  the  kingdom  of  God.  And 
Btill,  as  she  went  about  making  preparations  to  re- 
ceive her  guest,  was  Ihis  desire  that  the  visit  might 
bring  to  Laura  a  heavenly  blessing. 

On  the  appointed  day  Laura  came,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  she  fitted  into  the  household  as  though 
she  ha<l  always  been  a  member.  She  charmed  the 
children  with  her  lively  stories,  and  the  interest  she 
took  in  all  their  plays  and  games.  Indeed,  her  win- 
ning ways,  her  readiness  to  help,  and  her  merry  talk, 
made  her  a  favorite  with  all  the  family. 


;.y-"''-!!gg 


'•'^Vi^m'*^fi:w^yaifSS 


192 


THBEE  QIBLS. 


Laura,  on  her  part,  enjoyed  the  society  of  hei  cous- 
ins She  did  not  find  their  home  by  any  means  so 
quiet  as  she  had  imagined.  Indeed,  she  had  not 
been  there  long  before  she  realized  that  the  Gladwyns 
possessed  the  secret  of  true  enjoyment.  She  saw  too, 
that  religion  with  them  was  not  a  mere  form,  some- 
thing  distinct  and  separate  from  their  daily  life ;  on 
the  contrary,  for  each  one  it  blended  with  all  their 
duties  and  all  their  enjoyments. 

« I  will  ask  you  to  read  to-night,  Harry ;  my  eyea 
are  tired,"  said  Mr.  Gladwyn  one  evening  which  they 
had  spent  in  most  pleasant  social  companionship. 

So  Harry  read  the  first  chapter  of  the  First  Epistle 
of  John.    Wonderful  words  !    Yet  never  before  had 
they  seemed  so  wonderful  to  Laura.     She  glanced 
around  on  the  group.    Did  they  all  know  what  it 
meant  to  have  «  fellowship  with  the  Father,  and  with 
his  Son  Jesus  Christ "  ?    She  believed  they  did,  and 
because  of  this  they  had  "fellowship  one  with  an- 
other"; and  she  felt  like  one  left  out,  alone,  in  this 
little  company.    Then  Mr.  Gladwyn,  in  a  brief,  ear- 
nest  prayer,  brought  them  all  near  to  a  throne  of 
grace;  and  Laura  could  but  feel  that  there  had  been 
nothing  in  that  evening's  enjoyment  which  made  such 
an  ending  seem  out  of  harmony  ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
brouo-ht  the  day  most  fittingly  to  a  close. 

Sh^  recognized  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  true  re- 
liaion  and  true  enjoyment  go  hand  in  hand;  and  as 
the  days  went  on  she  was  more  and  more  convinced 


■(  W'l 


Kjiety  of  hei  ooua- 
!  by  any  means  bo 
ieed,  she  had  not 
hat  the  Gladwyns 
Bnt.  She  saw  too, 
mere  form,  some- 
heir  daily  life ;  on 
ded  with  all  their 

t,  Harry ;  my  eyea 
svening  which  they 
^mpanionship. 
f  the  First  Epistle 
it  never  before  had 
ura.     She  glanced 

all  know  what  it 
le  Father,  and  with 
ieved  they  did,  and 
vship  one  with  an- 
t  out,  alone,  in  this 
vn,  in  a  brief,  ear- 
ar  to  a  throne  of 
hat  there  had  been 
nt  which  made  such 

on  the  contrary,  it 
a  close. 

it  time,  that  true  re- 
1  in  hand;  and  as 
nd  more  convinced 


LAUBA  WYKDHAM. 


193 


of  this.  "  I  wish  I  could  feel  as  they  do,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "  but  I  am  easily  influenced.  When  I  get 
back  to  different  soKciety,  I  shall  feel  differently,  per- 
haps." Yet  she  did  not,  after  all,  wi»h  to  feel  differ- 
ently. To  say  the  truth,  the  gay  society  she  once  had 
enjoyed  had  lost  its  charm  fur  her.  What  was  the 
reason  ?  Laura  was  not  naturally  reserved,  and  she 
soon  confided  to  Ethel  the  secret  of  her  dissatisfaction 
and  unhappiness. 

They  were  sitting  together  in  Ethel's  room  one 
evening,  and  Laura  told  her  cousin  all  about  it.  The 
substance  of  it  was  that  Mr.  La  Blanc  was  engage<l  to 
be  married  to  a  wealthy  Southern  lady.  The  formal 
announcement  had  been  made;  so  there  was  no  doubt 
about  it.  "And,  oh,  Ethel!"  she  added,  "I  never 
knew  till  then  how  much  I  thought  of  him.  I  can- 
not care  for  anything  now.  And  the  worst  of  it  all  is 
that  mother  is  thankful,  and  so  is  Clarence.  So  I 
have  no  one  to  sympathize  with  me." 

"  Perhaps,  some  day  you  will  be  thankful  too,  dear," 
said  Ethel. 

"Perhaps,"  replied  Laura,  rather  disconsolately. 
"  Though,  for  my  jiart,  I  never  could  believe  anything 
against  him.  T  have  heard  he  drank  heavily  at  times. 
Of  course,  1  knew  that  he  took  wine  moderately. 
And  for  that  mdtter,  Clarence  used  to  take  his  glass 
occasionally ;  but  he  doesn't  now.  You  know,  Ethel, 
he  is  so  changed  in  many  ways.  He  is  so  anxious 
now  to  do  good  to  others.    He  has  a  class  in  Sunday 

N 


* 


i 


%- 


194 


THBEE  GIRLS. 


8chool-a  class  of  boys,  I  believe;  and  already  be 
has  quite  an  influence  over  them.  He  has  given  up 
theatres,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  he  seems  a 
great  deal  happier  than  he  used  to  be." 

Ethel  thought,  witli  a  throb  of  joy,  then  Ckrenoe 
too,  is  seeking  to  bring  about  God's  kingdom  on  earth. 
Then  she  spoke :  « I  am  so  glad  to  hear  it,  Laura. 
His  life  seemed  so  faultless,  and  yet  it  lacked  some- 
thing. But  now  the  love  of  Christ  constrains  him  to 
a  loving  service." 

Laura  resumed  :  "  Clarence  certainly  has  more  in- 
fluence over  me  than  he  ever  had  before.  I  wish, 
sometimes,  I  was  like  him.  I  do  feel,  Ethel,  that  I 
desire  to  be  a  Christian ;  but  I  am  such  a  giody  little 
thing.  Perhaps  to-day  I  might  be  good,  and  ^^mor- 
row  be  tempted  back  into  the  world  again." 

«  Then  you  are  afraid  to  trust  God.    You  think  he 
cannot  keep  you  in  the  hour  of  temptation,"  said 

Ethel.  , 

Laum   looked  thoughtful.      "Well,  not  exactly 

that,"  she  replied,  hesitatingly. 

« If  you  would  but  decide  to  give  up  all  for  Chnst, 
you  need  not  fear  for  the  future,  Laura ;  for  we  hftve 
« exceeding  great  and  precious  promises.'  I  think  the 
real  trouble  is,  you  arc  '  hahing  between  two  opinions.' 
'  Choose  you  this  day  whom  you  will  serve.' " 

Laura  said  nothing,  but  those  last  words  clung  to 
her.  They  kept  repeating  themselves  over  and  over  to 
her  mind.    She  could  not  sleep.    «  I  must  decide  to- 


;  and  already  be 
He  has  given  up 
;  and  he  seems  a 

loy,  then  Clarence 
kingdom  on  earth, 
to  hear  it,  Laura. 
;t  it  lacked  some- 
t  constrains  him  to 

»inly  has  more  in- 
id  before.  I  wish, 
feel,  Ethel,  that  I 
I  such  a  giody  little 
}  good,  and  to-mor- 
[d  again." 

od.    You  think  he 
'  temptation,"  said 

'Well,  not  exactly 

ire  up  all  for  Christ, 
Ltauia ;  for  we  have 
mises.'  I  think  the 
tween  two  opinions.' 
will  serve.*" 

last  words  clung  to 
Ives  over  and  over  to 

**  I  must  decide  to- 


LAURA  WYKDHAM. 


196 


night,"  was  the  one  thought  that  would  not  leave  her. 
Ah,  it  was  a  great  struggle ;  but,  before  the  morning 
dawned,  another  soul  had  been  born  into  the  kingdom 

of  God.  ^,  ^   , 

There  was  one  thing  only  that  troubled  Liaura, 
and  she  confided  it  to  Ethel.  "I  do  so  dread  seeing 
Mr.  La  Bhrnc  again.  I  am  so  afraid  I  shall  be  as 
fascinated  with  him  as  ever.    What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"Do  you  not  remember,"  said  Ethel,  "that  it  is 
recorded  of  the  disciples  once,  when  they  were  in 
trouble,  that  'they  went  and  told  Jesus'?  Now, 
Laura,  that  is  what  you  must  do  whenever  you  are 
tempted,  or  tried,  or  perplexed ;   and  you  wUl  surely 

find  help."  ,    ^^  .  ^. 

And  did  Laura  find  help  in  living  the  Christian 
lite ?  A  letter  she  wrote  to  Ethel  that  winter  will  tell 
some  of  her  experience.  After  telling  with  much  in- 
terest  of  some  Christian  work  that  she  had  found  to 
do,  she  continued :  .        >         a 

« I  am  finding  out  now  what  true  happiness  is  j  and 
oh,  Ethel  I  I  met  Mr.  La  Blanc  at  a  reception  the 
other  day,  and  I  wondered  that  I  ever  cared  for  him. 
My  eyes  are  opened  now  to  see  how  little  of  true 
worth  there  is  in  him." 

Ethel's  heart  was  filled  with  thankfulness  as  she 
read  this  lettei-,  and  thought  of  the  young  Ufe  that 
had  been  turned  away  from  selfishness  into  channels 
of  usefulness. 


"%, 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

OLD  FBIENDSHIPS  RENEWED. 

FIVE  years  have  passed  away.  Again  the  Lanes 
are  spending  their  summer  at  Long  View,  and 
Fannie  is  with  them ;  not  now  an  invalid  looking 
wearily  on  life,  but  strong  and  full  of  health  and 
viiror.  It  is  the  last  summer  she  will  spend  with 
them ;  for  Fannie  has  found  her  life  work,  and  in  a 
few  weeks  will  leave  her  native  land  in  company  with 
a  band  of  devoted  missionaries  for  far  away  China. 

And  now,  on  this  bright,  sunny  morning  when  we 
shall  take  a  last  glimpse  of  her,  she  is  busy  prepar- 
ing for  visitors,  going  from  room  to  room  and  put- 
ting finishing  touches  everywhere,  arranging  the 
flowers  and  vines  that  Harold  and  Amy  bring  her, 
making  their  seaside  home  look  pretty  and  attractive. 
For  Fannie  had  written  to  the  two  other  members  of 
the  trio  of  girihood  days,  saying,  "come  down  to 
Long  View,  both  of  you,  and  let  us  spend  one  more 
day  together— we  three  and  no  more." 

It  so  happened  that  Grace  was  visiting  at  her  old 
home ;  so  she  left  her  two  little  ones  in  charge  of 
their  fond  grandparents  and  auntie,  and  set  ofl"  with 
Ethel  to  spend  a  day  at  Woodbine  Cottage,  and  renew 
and  strengthen  the  friendship  of  early  days. 
190 


4.,;. 


■*  ;*  flpiiiH^pwftfi-^  Wi  4>  im  spu 


BWED. 

Again  the  Lanes 
;  Long  View,  and 
invalid  looking 
ill  of  health  and 
i  will  spend  with 
ife  work,  and  in  a 
1  in  company  with 
far  away  China, 
morning  when  we 
le  is  busy  prepar- 
to  room  and  put- 
re,   arranging   the 
id  Amy  bring  her, 
stty  and  attractive, 
other  members  of 
;,  "come  down  to 
us  spend  one  more 
re." 

visiting  at  her  oid 
ones  in  charge  of 
ie,  anil  set  off  with 
Cottage,  and  renew 
arly  days. 


Three  Girls  ond  Their  Motto. 


Page  200. 


■^. 


OLD  FBUWIWHIPB  BBNEWBD. 


197 


They  could  not  have  had  a  lovelier  day  for  their 
brief  visit  if  their  wiahea  regarding  the  weather  had 
been  specially  conaulttsd.  It  was  aimply  a  perfect 
wimmer  day.  Every  little  leaf  thrilled  and  quivered 
in  the  weat  wind;  every  little  wave  danced  and 
glistened  in  the  sunlight  It  was  a  day  that  in 
its  brightness  and  beauty  recalled  that  other  summer 
day,  long  before,  when  they  had  sat  together  under 
the  murmuring  pines,  and  talked  and  dreamed  about 
a  future  that  had  now  become  the  present. 

The  years  that  had  passed  away  since  then  had 
brought  but  few  changes,  save  that  the  three  had 
grown  into  womanhood,  and  begun  to  take  upon  them 
the  cares  and  responsibilities  of  life.  Yet  they  aU 
felt  like  giris  again  as  they  met  once  more,  for  one 
day,  at  least,  care  free-and  rambled  on  the  seashore, 
and  climbed  the  rocks,  just  tui  in  days  of  yore. 

It  was  long  since  they  had  talked  together,  face  to 
face;  so  nbw  they  opened  their  hearts  to  one  another. 
Fannie  told  how  the  months  of  sickness  and  weari- 
ness and  waiting  through  which  she  had  passed,  and 
which  seemed  so  hard  at  the  time,  had  really  proved 
a  blessing  to  her.    Then  she  had  wanted  to  work 
simply  because  it  was  her  nature  to  crave  activity ; 
she  had  made  her  own  plans  regarding  her  life,  and 
her  heart  was  bent  on  fulBlling  them.    But  in  her 
trouble  she  had  learned  to  say,  "Thy  will,  not  mine, 
be  done";  and,  when    health  and   strength  were 
restored  to  her,  she  simply  asked  from  day  to  day. 


198 


THBER  OlRUi. 


'M 


"  Lord,  what  wilt  thou  hove  me  to  do?  "  Thus  alio 
had  been  hA  on  atep  by  step,  till  she  had  resolved  to 
give  her  life  to  work  among  ihe  darkened  millions  of 
China,  seeking  in  this  wny  the  kingdom  of  God,  and 
looking  only  for  the  commendation  of  the  Great  King. 

And  Grace  told  how  helpful  it  was  to  her,  amid 
the  many  distractions  of  life,  to  have  one  ruling  pur- 
pose ;  and  since  that  puqiose  was  a  high  and  noble 
one  it  tended  to  uplift  her  in  thought  and  action 
above  the  littleness  that  too  often  characterizes  ordi- 
nary life. 

And  Ethel  confided  fully  to  her  two  friends  all  her 
hopes  for  the  future.  Of  course  they  knew  ere  this, 
what  I  tell  you  now,  young  friends,  that  in  a  few 
weeks  Ethel  would  become  the  wife  of  Frank 
Eaynor.  But  Ethel  had  something  more  to  tell  them 
to-day,  and  ilmt  was  that  she  would  be  mistress  of 
Elmcroft,  the  former  home  of  the  Leslies.  Mr. 
Leslie  had  removed  to  California  with  his  family, 
and  being  in  somewhat  embarrassed  circumstances, 
had  offered  his  property  at  a  great  Haciifice,  and 
Frank  Raynor  had  bought  it. 

Grace  clapped  her  hands  with  delight  when  she 
heard  the  news ;  then  noticing  her  friend's  thought- 
ful look,  said  :  "  What  makes  you  look  so  sober  over 

it,  Ethel?" 

"  Oh,  Grace,  it  is  such  a  responsibility.  I  am  so 
afraid,  sometimes,  that  I  will  not  make  a  right  use  of 
all  that  God  has  given  me." 


-■■^ 


fm- 


do?"  ThuBilic 
e  had  resolved  to 
kened  millions  of 
dom  of  God,  and 
>f  the  Great  King, 
was  to  hor,  amid 
re  one  ruling  pur- 
a  higli  and  noble 
ought  and  action 
oharacterizes  ordi- 

two  friends  all  her 
hey  knew  ere  this, 
ids,  that  in  a  few 
wife  of  Frank 
5  more  to  tell  them 
lid  be  mistress  of 
the  Leslie.  Mr. 
I  with  his  family, 
ised  circumstances, 
reat  saciiflce,   and 

delight  when  she 
r  friend's  thought- 
look  80  sober  over 

isibility.    I  am  so 
make  a  right  use  of 


OLD  riUKKD8HIP8  REMKWED. 


109 


"  You  are  just  the  oiw  who  will,"  wid  Grace.  "  I 
am  afraid  1  could  not  be  entnisted  with  so  much." 

"  Do  you  wmeraber "  ^nintinued  Ethel,  "  that  long 
ago  we  promised  to  pray  for  one  another.  I  feel  now 
how  much  I  need  your  prayers  on  my  behalf,  for  you 
know,  Grace,  that  I  shall  not  only  have  great  opi^r- 
tunities  of  usefulness,  but  also  great  temptations  to 
live  for  self  and  the  world." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Grace,  her  face  growing 
thoughtful  as  she  remembered  some  of  her  own  \mt 
experiences. 

Then  Fannie  said,  "  You  will  remember  me,  will 
you  not,  when  you  make  known  your  requests  unto 
God.  You  know  how  much  I  shall  need  strength 
and  help." 

"  Oh,  Fannie,  when  I  think  svhat  a  grand  work 
you  have  given  yourself  up  to  do,  I  feel  as  though 
we  at  home  have  nothing  to  do  and  do  nothing,"  said 

Ethel. 

"  No,  not  so,"  replied  Fannie,  quickly ;  "  you  have 
much  to  do  at  home.  Just  think  how  much  interest 
you'may  awaken  in  missions  if  you  only  bear  them 
much  on  your  heart ;  and  then  iu  many  ways  you  can 
be  a  help  and  comfort  to  the  missionaries." 

"  I  know  one  thing,"  said  Ethel,  her  face  brighten- 
ing as  she  spoke,  "  as  long  as  we  own  Elmcroft,  it  will 
always  be  open  to  workers  in  Christ's  kingdom,  and 
we  shall  gladly  bid  them  welcome  *  iu  his  name.' 
So,"  she  added,  turning  to  Fannie,  "  you  will  know 


t»r 


200 


THBGE  OIBIfi. 


where  to  owne  when  you  return  to  this  country  for 

rest." 

So  they  talked  on  through  that  long  summer  after- 
noon; and  running  through  all,  and  blending  with 
all  in  their  memories  of  that  day  in  after  years,  were 
the  silvery  cadence  of  the  waves  dashing  on  the  sandy 
beach,  and  tlie  rush  and  stir  of  long  grasses,  as  the 
breeze  swept  lightly  over  them,  laden  with  the 
mingled  sweetness  of  sea  and  land.  The  t.me  passed 
all  too  quickly.  Soon  it  was  tea  time,  when  they 
spent  a  pleasant  hour  with  the  other  members  of  the 

Then  they  were  left  alone  again ;  and  as  tlie  clos- 
ing hours  of  that  happy  day  drew  on,  the  three,  arm 
in  arm,  wandered  over  the  grass  plot,  or  stood  to  look 
out  over  the  rippling  waters,  silvered  by  the  beams 
of  the  rising  moon.    And  in  the  hush  of  that  even- 
ing twilight  we  will  leave  then-  soon  to  be  widely 
separated,  walking  different  pathways  through  life, 
but  each  one  actuated  by  the  same  guiding  principle, 
running  like  a  golden  thread  through  all  the  days, 
and  binding  together  in  one  harmonious  who  e,  the 
fragments  that  make  up  life.    And  that  principle  was 
thTone  they  had  adopted  long  before,  "Seek  ye  first 
the  kingdom  of  God." 


THS  END. 


•Ai] 


this  country  for 

>ng  summer  after- 

od  blending  with 

a  after  years,  were 

jhing  on  the  sandy 

ng  grasses,  as  the 

laden  with   the 

The  time  passed 

time,  when  they 

er  members  of  the 

;  and  as  tfie  clos- 
on,  the  three,  arm 
at,  or  stood  to  look 
ered  by  the  beams 
insh  of  that  even- 
soon  to  be  widely 
ways  through,  life, 
guiding  principle, 
ough  all  the  days, 
tnonious  whole>  the 
1  that  principle  was 
fore,  "Seek  ye  first 


I 

I 


\ 


i 


i- 


